


A Pair of Post Hole Diggers

by compo67



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha Jensen, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Angst and Feels, Chickens, Coming of Age, Daydreaming, Explicit Sexual Content, Family Dynamics, Family Issues, First Love, Grandmothers, M/M, Older Jensen, Omega Jared, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love, Slice of Life, Small Towns, Teenage Jared, retirement homes, younger Jared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-03-21 16:20:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 44
Words: 47,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13744728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/compo67/pseuds/compo67
Summary: Jared sleeps in the pantry. No, this is not a story about wizards.Ever since his three stepbrothers and their father, Luke, moved in, there's been a lot less room for Jared. When his half sister was born, he forgot all about his own space, peace, quiet, and sanity. To combat insanity, Jared spends most of his free time at the Shady Pines Retirement Community visiting his Grams.One day, Luke asks Jared to help with a construction project on a nearby ranch. They'll be building a fence around the extensive property, but the new owner of the ranch will help out, which happens to be Luke's friend, Jensen.





	1. Chapter 1

 

Today is Wednesday--bridge day and meatloaf night.

At three thirty, Jared arrives from school, fresh and desperate for any environment that doesn’t involve his classmates or math. Certain adults--like his mother--could make the argument that Jared is and has always been a loner without any interest in making friends. Those certain adults--his mother, especially--would do well to mind their own business.

Jared hopes to run into Lydia, his favorite security guard, but like his lunch, reality disappoints. He considers bypassing checking in as a visitor all together, until he remembers the last time that happened. But there shouldn’t be any chickens escaping onto the front lawn or the brakes from an electric scooter going haywire. Or one of the old fire extinguishers in the lobby setting off without the slightest provocation. Or any smuggled sandwiches mysteriously falling out of Jared’s back pockets.

Still, he promised to follow the rules.

“You behave while you’re here,” Rodney grunts, hefting himself out of his beloved throne behind the front desk.

“This isn’t a prison,” Jared retorts.

There are many problems with Rodney. First, he thinks he’s god’s gift to omegas. Second, he wears much more cologne than any human alive--it’s a spritz, not a god damn bath. Third, he thinks he’s an officer of the law, instead of what he really is: an ex-rent a cop from the Piggly Wiggly who got fired for sexual harassment.

Rodney is one of many individuals on a long list of adults who have taught Jared that the world is ninety percent bullshit. Jared doesn’t bother to register Rodney’s reply. Every Wednesday is meatloaf day. Every time Rodney manages to cobble together a sentence, it isn’t worth dirt. These are facts of the world.

Down a large hallway and into the beige community area, Jared takes a familiar walk. He plasters the visitor’s badge Rodney managed to give him, directly onto his chest so that in case of any questioning, everyone can see that he followed the rules. He’s behaving. Honest.

It is completely ridiculous to insist on these rules anyway. All the orderlies and staff members know Jared. And as long as he isn’t blatantly setting things on fire or stealing medicine, no one cares what he does. He’s the only person under the age of sixty that willingly visits _and_ engages with the residents. Rodney mutters the last part of what is probably the Gettysburg Address, nods in an incredible effort to be respected and feared, and shuffles off to his previous duties of napping and scratching himself.

Left alone, Jared walks over to his grandmother’s bridge table. He hates to interrupt the game, but she has insisted before that she never minds. Her eyes light up at the sight of him, and immediately, she starts the ancient grandmotherly ritual of bragging very loudly to everyone around her about him.

“Wake up, you old bats!” Grams snaps, elbowing Mrs. Williams in the shoulder. “Look at the movie star that just walked in! Isn’t he gorgeous? Grace! Look up! I have to listen to your granddaughter talk about her spiritual retreats with the forest gods--the least you can do is suck up to my boy!” Her demands do not stop there. She stands up, rising to Jared’s elbow, and whacks the small of his back. “Up! Up! Stand up! You don’t wanna end up hunched over!”

The table of bridge ladies coo over Jared as instructed. Mrs. Simon slips him a quarter, with the usual instruction not to spend it all in one place. Rashida ruffles his hair when he bends down to hug her, and asks, “How’s the weather up there?” If anyone else asked this question, Jared would attempt to smite them from the face of the earth. But Rashida is alright. She’s called Rodney out before for being nothing but a wart on the butt of payroll. And without her connections to the kitchen staff--her grandson Donald works as one of the cooks--Jared would never leave with at least three sandwiches for later.

Grams doesn’t know how Jared can eat the food served at an old folks’ home, but Jared insists that it’s better than what they serve at the high school. Or whatever his stepfather brings home from Burger Barn.

When she can, Grams will treat him to a meal at the diner in town. He’s a fan of cheeseburgers and milkshakes, and she enjoys coffee and pie. If her hands were better, she’d make him meals herself, but, according to her, that’s just what happens when someone outlives dinosaurs. Her hair went white two years ago, the blond from it calling it quits once and for all. She cut it short, pixie cut short, last summer and hasn’t stopped being amused by it since. Her hair is shorter than her grandson’s--ain’t that a kick in the pants.

All the bridge ladies take turns offering whatever they have on hand to Jared. He collects two quarters, a pudding cup, two shortbread cookies, and three cards.

Before Grams hauls him off, he secretly slips the cards back into the deck.

In her apartment, pictures serve as focal points. One particular one stands out to Jared every time he visits. It was Gramp’s favorite, though for vastly different reasons. Frozen in time, Grams lies down on a beach towel with her feet up, posed like the pin-up model she could have been. She was young and happy, her long blond hair fanned out across the leopard print towel like a streak of sunlight. And while the color doesn’t look so bold to Jared, he knows that her bright red lipstick was a daring choice back then.

The snapshot was taken an hour before the incident that made Grams the talk of the town.

Seventeen years old at the time, she was arrested for indecent exposure. Her crime had been flashing her date, lifting up her bikini top and letting the girls hang out in all their glory for a split second.

She had meant to embarrass Gramps, because he was such a square, but she hadn’t meant to flash the Reverend and his mother-in-law.

Jared picks up the picture, staying in the living room while she heads to the kitchen.

Gramps kept this picture by his nightstand, cared for and treasured until the day he died. Until that heart attack nabbed him in the middle of the night.

Having an arrest record did nothing to prevent Gramps and Grams from getting married and causing chaos anywhere else but that beach. Grams had been banned for life.

“Could you blame them for arresting me?” Grams leans against the doorway to the kitchen, arms crossed over her chest. “Look at me, I was a dish.”

“They should’ve locked you up,” Jared teases and sets the picture down with care, back in its place on the coffee table, next to a picture of Grams and Gramps on their wedding day. “Tossed away the key.”

With a glance at her pictures, she walks over to Jared and gives his shoulder a soft nudge. “Yeah, well, they missed their chance. Sit, sit.” She takes her seat in her favorite wicker chair, favorite coral slippers not far. “I was as gorgeous then as you are handsome now. And,” she sighs, fondly, “that’s where you should be! Out there!”

“Exposing myself and getting arrested?”

“Yes!”

“Is that permission?”

“Sure, what the hell. That’s what life is for, Jaybird, getting into scrapes and having fun. Not here, visiting dinosaurs in this dump, listening to your obnoxious grandmother go on and on about how great her figure used to be.”

Jared plops down on the floral print loveseat next to her chair. “You gonna be the one bailing me out of jail, then?”

While her figure has changed since that fated day at the beach, Grams remains an attractive woman. She is particular about her appearance--always has been. Today’s outfit is a simple light blue sundress and pristine white flats. Jared feels scruffy in comparison, but nothing can be done now about the rip in his jeans or the wrinkles in his t-shirt. At least the dark blue color of his shirt hides the grass stains.

“Oh, honey, I’m so broke, I’ll probably be right in there with you.”

“They outlawed debtor’s prison, Grams.”

“Ah, they’d make an exception for me.”

“Well, I have fifty cents.”

“Those biddies,” she cracks, rolling her eyes. “Next time I’ll have them give you paper money.”

“It’s enough to buy an ice cream.”

“Good. You do that. A growing boy needs sugar. So.” One white flat nudges against one dirty sneaker. “You staying for shit on a plate?”

“Can I?”

“Can you? Of course you can. I’ll have the cutest date.”

The kettle of tea she put on sounds out--shrill and piercing. Jared beats her to it and turns off the burner, then pours water into the two mugs she prepared without hesitation. He’ll drink most teas, well, anything except for that nasty chamomile stuff. As he waits for her to add sugar and milk, he notices that the paint has started peeling in the kitchen yet again. He can get to touching it up, if she’ll give him a day or two. Before they leave the kitchen for the living room, he happens to catch the refrigerator making a rattling noise. It’s a faint noise, but those kinds of problems usually get worse with time. He can take a look at that too, plus the leaky faucet in her bathroom, and the bedroom door that keeps sticking--things he noticed on his last visit.

Shady Pines is the best retirement facility in town.

It’s also the _only_ retirement facility in town.

“Cheers,” Grams chirps, holding up her cup. “To our radiant beauty.”

“Cheers,” Jared laughs.

“This is the only real way to drink tea, you know--out of cups and saucers.”

“And with two scoops of sugar and a spot of tea.”

“So you _do_ listen to adults.”

Jared shrugs. “It happens. Just don’t get used to it.”

She shoots him a knowing smile. “Well, best thing your grandfather ever learned was how to make proper tea. When they shipped him over to England, those boys finally taught him some god damn table manners. Before the War, that man could barely hold a fork. Nope. They fixed up Ross real good.”

Last year, on Jared’s birthday, his mother announced that she was two months pregnant. The resulting baby was named Rose, after Gramps. Baby Rose is the latest member of their family who can’t hold a fork.

Mom married Luke a year and a half ago.

Since then, Jared has learned to make himself scarce.

“Was it love at first sight between you and Gramps?” He takes a sip of tea, without slurping, happy to understand these rituals. “Or did he have to woo you?”

Grams smiles into her cup and shakes her head. “No wooing. The man literally swept me off my feet.” This is a story Jared has heard many times before, from both Grams and Gramps. “He stayed in England a few years after the War, worked in a print shop. He was so good at that. Anyway, his friend needed help on a ranch out here, where, as you know, a certain someone was working her first summer job.”

“Do you miss working on a ranch?”

“Shit, no.” She laughs and shrugs. “Okay… maybe a little. I suppose I don’t miss the work or the smell, but I do miss the horses. Ain’t no folk like cowboy folk, either. Now those were men you could set your watch to. Like brothers to me.”

Jared nibbles on one of the cookies he was gifted at the bridge table. “But you liked Gramps the best?”

“I walked up to him, stuck out my hand, and said, ‘Mister Padawhatever, I don’t know who you are, but Paul says you’re kin and his kin is mine. Welcome.’ And wouldn’t you know it? A hog got loose from the pens and charged right at us.” She looks at the coffee table while she talks. “Your grandfather picked me up like he was holding some cotton candy.”

She goes onto say that someday, some fateful day, he’ll feel that same sense of whirlwind awe.

He changes the subject.


	2. Chapter 2

In the tranquility offered by Grams’ apartment, time passes easily and without much notice. Jared updates her on the more scandalous gossip from school. With the ability to make himself scarce and practically invisible, he picks up the best news about his classmates and teachers. He has no interest in interacting with any of them--despite a few precious attempts. 

Listening to their problems and scandals is a much better use of his energy. 

His social studies teacher lost all of his lesson plans for the beginning of the term, so he’s been showing outdated movies for the past few weeks. The loudmouth guidance counselor continues to pick fights with various faculty throughout the school, mostly emphasizing the need for teachers to be more emotionally competent. This would be fine, but their approach is all wrong and borders on bullying. Different teachers have different responses, most of which are fun to witness. 

On the way to dinner, Jared mentions the dreaded apple harvest sponsored by the school, coming up in a month. He plans to skip it and any apple related activities--period. 

“Oh, c’mon,” Grams sighs, rolling her eyes almost as skillfully as Jared can. “See, this is one of those instances where you need to get out! Live a little!” She elbows him. “There have got to be some cute alphas you’re interested in. Maybe you can get ‘em to pick you a bushel or three.”

Heaving an epic groan, Jared grumbles, “No, Grams, they are all  _ terrible _ .”

“You’re telling me that every single alpha in that school of yours doesn’t make the cut?”

“It’s a small school.”

“Or maybe your standards are too high.”

Jared gasps. His hand flies to his chest. “And that’s a  _ bad _ thing?!”

“Hell yes! Make out with a few of them. Make ‘em buy you dinner, take you out. That’s what this period of your life is for.”

“Leading alphas on.”

“Well, shit, don’t say it like a negative thing.” She escorts him to the cafeteria line, hanging onto his arm. “You’re not meant to marry them at this age. Just, you know. Fool around.” 

Donald says a quick hello from behind the counter. Jared and Grams check in with him, ask him about his daughter, assure him that his grandmother has not been gambling on bridge games, and thank him for the brown paper bag he discreetly slides over to Jared. 

At their regular table, Jared reminds his grandmother of an important and impossible to ignore fact about alphas in high school. “They’re  _ gross _ .”

“One of them has got to know how to shower, Jaybird.”

“Nope. Not a one.” He frees his plastic form from its cellophane wrapper and stabs his slab of meatloaf. “They think the application of body spray counts as showering.” 

“Alright, alright.” 

Further conversation around this topic stops as Mrs. Beatte pitches a weathered paperback onto their table. It lands directly in front of Grams’ tray. Even tinier than Grams, Mrs. Beatte is a long-time resident who has survived most of her family, save for one brother she threatens to castrate every time he attempts to visit her. She’s never divulged what happened between them to warrant those threats, but Jared knows when to stop asking why. 

“You got a lot of nerve recommending this book, Mona,” Mrs. Beatte growls. “Nothing but trash.”

“I don’t recall holding a gun to your head and forcing you to read it,” Grams snips. “Though I can imagine there’s a bunch of people who hold guns to your head, so maybe you get confused on that aspect.” 

“Listen, you and your saggy old behind need to stop reading this filth!” 

“Oh, like you hated it. That spine wasn’t  _ that _ wrinkled when I lent it to you.” 

“Wrinkled?! Maybe you should have a good look in the mirror, Mona.” 

“Oh, hush. Quit talking shit, my grandson’s here, so you best not talk to me if you wanna sit next to him for dinner.” 

No one misses out on Jared’s company for dinner. Mrs. Beatte ruffles his hair--a tad rough--and slips him a dollar from her purple fanny pack. She promises an extra dollar if he promises to save her a seat next to him while she goes to grab her food. Jared solemnly swears to fight any elderly person who even looks at Mrs. Beatte’s reserved seat. 

One by one, Grams’ group of friends emerge and hunker down at the table. Mrs. Vargas from across the hall tries to entice Jared with a handful of mints from her purse. Betty promises a drive around the property on her personal golf cart. Any extra food gets passed over to Jared--no questions asked, not a hint of hesitation. Talk picks up about how Cheryl is still in the hospital with her new hip; several agree that at their age, wearing heels is practically asking for a hip replacement. 

Grams tries to bring up the subject of dating again, but it backfires on her. Most of the members at their dinner table are either divorced or widowed. 

Mrs. Beatte issues the final statement on the subject, just before dessert. 

“You stick with your studies,” she says, her voice commanding, because she is an authority on this subject. “Stay away from that mess and keep your head on straight. You hear me?” 

Jared most definitely does. 


	3. Chapter 3

At home, Jared has a room.

It is a real room, very tangible, very much there.

It just happens to be a pantry right off the kitchen. At the inevitable arrival of the new baby, Jared was given three choices: share a room with his three stepbrothers, share a room with the baby, or move into the one space left in the house that they could spare. 

Pantry it was. 

Once Baby Rose figured out the power of her tiny lungs--and the relationship between crying and getting fed--Jared was extremely appreciative of being as far away as possible from her nursery. But living in a pantry, despite it being big enough to wedge a twin mattress into it, has taken its toll on him. Several methods of physical contortion have been attempted to make the space more inhabitable. All have failed. 

Even his stepbrothers’ dogs have more room to exist by living in the backyard. 

To Jared, the solution seems to be buying a new house. Of his own. Where absolutely no one else is allowed to live--especially his stepbrothers. He’s got nothing much against Baby Rose, she’s cute and all, but she’s not exactly making a ton of positive contributions to their living situation beyond being cute. And cuteness does not help Jared sleep.

So he’s going to do it. He’s going to bring up this issue to his mother. Tonight.

He walks back from Shady Pines carrying two paper bags of leftovers. Donald made him a couple of meatloaf sandwiches, and Jared managed to hoard crackers and pudding cups from their dinner party in the cafeteria. Mr. Henderson gave him a piece of bubblegum; Jared chews it as he trudges down the dark, dirt road back to town. He blows bubbles in a secret rhythm.

On the outside, their house looks like any other in their town--a little run down. Someone not from around here might think it’s a fixer upper. A handyman’s dream. Shows what they know.

Maybe it’s more than a little run down, but Jared’s feeling generous tonight. 

He fights his way through the jungle of brush that surrounds the backdoor and the universe plays its usual trick on him. Outside, from a distance, the house seems tranquil. This is a deception. 

“Luke!” His mother’s shout bursts ear drums in China. “Did you switch out the laundry?!” 

Jared has caught his mother in the middle of washing tonight’s dishes while trying to balance Baby Rose on her hip. Chores cannot be done one at a time in their house. And of course, none of Jared’s stepbrothers decided to help out with the dishes. 

Juggling Baby Rose and a dirty pan, his mother moves in a constant whirlwind. Jared knows her motions like his own; he’s had to do the dishes and take care of Baby Rose before. And what happens next doesn’t surprise anyone--Baby Rose wails directly into their mother’s ear. And a second later, soapy dishwater everywhere, Baby Rose decides to spit up all over their mother’s neck and shoulder. 

“Oh my god!” Their mother shrieks. She turns to grab a rag and spots Jared. “Jared! Don’t just stand there! Help!” 

No one has to worry about Jared getting knocked up by an alpha at school. 

This is enough birth control to last him a lifetime. 

In Jared’s arms, Baby Rose cries louder. He shuffles them out of the kitchen, twisting and bending around boxes of unpacked stuff from the boys and Luke moving in six months ago. Six whole months and no one has gotten around to touching those boxes. As long as there’s a pathway to the kitchen and the shitter, the boys don’t care about anything. Jared replaces a chunk of his hair in Baby Rose’s chubby fist with a random teddy bear he finds on a couch. She does as babies do with anything that is not food: sticks it in her mouth. 

He wipes her face with the hem of his shirt. She tries to push him away, but gives up in order to drool harder on the poor stuffed animal. 

Mom married Luke a year and a half ago, but their households didn’t merge until last Christmas. Since it was easier for Luke to relocate from Lisle, and since Mom had the biggest living space, Luke and his three boys became Jared’s housemates. Their house had been just big enough for Jared and his mother. They enjoyed quiet nights of bingo and poker, Saturday evenings huddled around the radio to catch their latest shows, and Sunday mornings making pancakes. 

Their house used to be clean.

It used to be his. 

Baby Rose smacks Jared in the face and squeals. She tugs on his shirt, tiny fingers digging into his skin regardless. 

“Oh no,” Jared mutters and repositions her so that she’s nowhere near his chest. “I don’t feed you. I just work here.” 

Luke has a good job working construction, but not good enough to completely support a household of seven. Mom works part-time at the bank in town. She’s been dropping hints all summer that if any of the kids want to get their own part-time job, they’ll be hailed as heroes. 

Well, everyone is welcome to get a part-time job except for Jared. 

She’s made it clear that Jared’s only jobs are to go to school and not get pregnant. 

Done and done.

“How was school, Jared?” A few pots and pans bang around in the kitchen, but his mother’s voice manages to float above them. “Did you do well on that test?” 

“My chem test is tomorrow,” Jared sighs. “It was fine. I managed not to burn the building down.”

“That’s not funny.” 

“Rose laughed.” She didn’t, not exactly. He circles back into the kitchen, gently rocking Baby Rose back and forth in his arms. She slobbers all over the teddy’s head, and looks up at Jared in the process as if she has accomplished something spectacular. 

“Jared,” his mother huffs, “I need you to stay home from school tomorrow.” 

“But I have my chem test tomorrow!”

Scraping residue off of a casserole pan, his mother’s elbows disappear into soapy water. “I’m sorry, but I just got off the phone with Mrs. Baker and she can’t watch Rose in the morning. I’ll be home by noon and you can go then.” 

It’s not that Jared is dying to take a chemistry test on boiling points and chemical structures, but he actually bothered to talk to his study group in order to prepare. Now, that effort is a total waste. And he’s already missed school a handful of times since the start of the term four weeks ago. He doesn’t even have a proper bedroom to go sulk in. 

“I want my own room,” he blurts out, upset at these turn of events. “Luke could build something.”

“What? What do you mean? You have your own room.”

“Mom, it’s a pantry! I barely fit in there anymore!” Jared can exaggerate a lot of things, but being too tall for most spaces is not one of them. Not since last summer. 

Aaron, Jared’s youngest stepbrother, sees fit to choose that exact moment as the time to run through the kitchen half naked. Being six years old, he can somewhat get away with that. Jared doesn’t really care if any of his stepbrothers bathe or practice personal hygiene. They can roll around in mud for all he cares. Just as long as they stay fifty feet away from him. 

Mom, however, cares. “Aaron! What… get back upstairs and take your bath! LUKE!”

From the stairs, Luke hollers, “Aaron Michael, get over here!” 

“Ahhhhh!” Aaron raises his arms above his head and crashes into a pile of boxes. The impact does nothing but slow him down. However, thanks to the noise and commotion, Baby Rose starts crying. Jared kicks Aaron in the shins as a thank you. Aaron runs back to Luke at the stairs, yelling about how Jared was mean to him. 

“My. Own. Room.” Jared holds Baby Rose off of his shoulder to avoid as much direct screaming in his ear. 

The phone rings. 

Luke has now started a hunt across the second floor, stomping after Aaron, whose footsteps are lighter and faster. 

“I don’t have time for this, Jared! Where would I put you? No, I’m sorry your room is less than perfect, but it’s the best I can do right now. Adam! Would you please get the phone?! And actually take a message this time?! Andrew! I told you to feed the dogs an hour ago!” 

Well, he tried. 

And Jared knows better than to keep trying at this point. The only thing he can do is stick his pinky into Baby Rose’s mouth. Her red, angry little face scrunches, suspect to this new thing to drool on. He takes her outside, onto the back porch, and sits down. He can still hear yelling and scrambling from inside, but at least there’s some distance between all that mess. 

If it’s warm enough tonight, he might just sleep out here. 

That wouldn’t be so bad. 

Baby Rose agrees. She nestles her head against Jared’s chest, still sucking on his pinky. And what turns into a small moment of peace becomes a moment of nausea. 

Her diaper is stinky. 


	4. Chapter 4

Jared’s biological father--Gram’s son--left town when Jared was about Baby Rose’s age. 

Jared tries not to take it personally. There are many reasons why people abandon their young wives and newborn babies. And he can’t entirely blame his father. Sometimes, Jared wants to leave like that--just step outside for a moment and walk. 

And then keep on walking.

To a land without crying babies, scraping for food, or rooms that are actually pantries. 

So maybe it’s genetic. 

What isn’t genetic is a sense of patience and maternal instinct. The next morning, Baby Rose goes for an Olympic gold medal in crying and burping. From her point of view, Jared isn’t the one stuck with her--she’s the one stuck with Jared. 

Being an omega does not automatically mean Jared cares for babies. She’s his sister, which means he cares more than he would for any other baby, but still. The entire morning becomes a nightmare Jared would like to repress and never dwell upon ever again. Even if he hadn’t studied for the chemistry test today, he’d still have preferred failing it instead of getting spit up on repeatedly. 

The one silver lining to this is that Baby Rose and Jared have the house to themselves. 

Crying occupies most of Baby Rose’s busy schedule of being a baby. Jared tries a few different approaches. First, he tries holding her. Then, he tries blowing raspberries on her cheeks. Then, he checks her diaper. After a fresh diaper change--and a shit ton of squirming on her part--she continues to cry. Teddy bear? Soft squishy squeak toy thing? His pinky? Peek-a-boo? 

Finally, out of ideas, Jared sets her back down in the crib and slumps into the rocking chair beside it. He never goes into much detail to Grams about their current living situation or where Jared sleeps or how often he misses school or how sometimes, when he gets home, there aren’t any leftovers to pick at. He doesn’t want to worry her. It won’t kill him to eat a cheese sandwich every now and then. Luckily, he managed to hide the leftovers Donald packed him in the far recesses of the fridge. Stretched out in the rocking chair, he wolfs down two meatloaf sandwiches and a pudding cup. 

Baby Rose decides to call it quits and take a break from crying. 

She falls asleep. Just like that. She looks a little angry, and her fists are balled up like she’s going to box Jared’s ears when she wakes up, but the point is that she’s asleep. 

He clicks on the baby monitor and wanders over to his so-called room. 

He’d never leave just like this. But the thought of leaving, in and of itself, feels like a deep breath.

Well, nothing to do about that shit now. At ten thirty, he starts on washing some of the dishes in the sink, changing the laundry Luke never got to the night before, and unpacking a few boxes in the kitchen. Sometimes it’s best to stay busy. 


	5. Chapter 5

“I’m sorry I’m late, I just… they offered me the extra hours and I had to. You understand, right? Right, Jared?” 

“Yes, mom, I get it.” 

“I’ll call school and work things out.”

“I already missed the test.” 

“They’ll let you make it up.” 

“Whatever. I’m going out.”

“Don’t. Don’t do that, Jared.”

“Do what? I didn’t do anything.”

“If you want food on this table, I have to work extra hours. That’s just how it goes. I don’t do these things on purpose.” 

“Food? On this table?”

“I want you home for dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“Jared!”

“I’ll eat out.”

“Jared--don’t just run off!”

It has to hurt her to see him walk out the backdoor, the flimsy screen door shaking, and his back to her. Maybe this is what she saw when his father left. Or maybe he did it at night, when no one could see. Jared can’t tell which one would hurt more. 

He turns back, just once. 

“I’m not running,” he clarifies. “I’m walking.” 


	6. Chapter 6

Most of the residents at Shady Pines go to bed by seven in the evening. Around nine, the grounds are completely dark and quiet. 

No part of Shady Pines frightens Jared. 

He knows every complex and building, every tree and flower bed. There’s a dirt road that leads to a small thicket behind the main building, lined with tired flowers. Someone tried to make a vegetable garden years ago, but staff got tired of helping residents maintain it. All that’s left are vines, choking out anything that tries to grow on its own. 

On cooler nights, Jared lingers after his visit with Grams and runs the perimeter of Shady Pines.

Tonight is one of those nights. 

He helped Grams and Mrs. Beatte put up some tomatoes and berries. The proof stains his fingertips an interesting, deep shade of red, like he’s spent the night painting blood. Grams warned him not to get into any trouble with Rodney tonight; with hands like these, Rodney will only jump to conclusions. 

Right, because Jared just so happens to perform his demonic rituals at the retirement home.

Lightning bugs flicker throughout the front lawns of Shady Pines like floating planets. Jared spots three in a row and makes a wish. Walking on, he notices a few patches of grass are drier than others, which means the landscape people haven’t been as diligent lately. The grass that’s healthy is taller than it should be, brushing over and against his ankles. 

A few lights stay on in the main building no matter what time of day. That’s not out of place.

However, the cherry red pickup truck outside the main entrance is another story. 

Jared begins a thorough investigation. The trucks sport out of state plates and tires with well-worn tread. This isn’t a trophy pickup, but still, it’s well-maintained from what Jared can tell. In the bed is an assortment of plain wood furniture, a small bookshelf, and a leather arm chair. Aside from the smell of the truck itself, Jared picks up a combination of field grass, leather, and… sugar? 

“Hey! What are you doing?!” A voice from the front doors snaps out at Jared. 

Immediately, Jared places distance between himself and the truck. He could run, but that makes him even more suspicious, so he prepares a defense for himself. An older alpha male with white hair and a walker storms towards him. The man stands just at Jared’s shoulder. 

“What business you got snoopin’ around my grandson’s truck? Eh? Who the hell you think you are?”

Great. If he had wanted to be yelled at more today, he could have just stayed home. And in any normal circumstance, a resident would have seen Jared and thought, “What a nice young man.” Clearly, this prospective resident does not share those views. 

A younger alpha male joins the spectacle outside. “Pop, keep it down, folks are sleeping. Who are you yelling at?” 

This must be the grandson, the owner of the truck. He places a protective hand over his grandfather’s shoulder and looks hard at Jared. He’s new in town, not just because Jared has never seen him before. His clothes--a green plaid shirt, dark jeans--are nicer looking, not just in their lack of stains or rips, but in their overall fit. And those boots don’t look anything like the cheap pairs Tanner sells at the General Store. Nice truck. Nice stuff. Definitely new. 

And, well, Jared would never forget a face like that on an alpha. 

Except, the face doesn’t match the voice. Rough, almost in a bark, the grandson speaks. “Kid, it’s late to be pulling bullshit pranks. Run on home, would you?” 

“I wasn’t doing anything,” Jared snips. He crosses his arms over his chest and maintains a wide stance. This is the posture Luke always has when he’s cussing out the boys. 

The walker rattles in protest. “Yes you were! You were lookin’ for the keys to my grandson’s truck!”

“I was not!”

“You damn well were! Now we caught you.” The grandfather turns to his grandson. “Wait here, son. I’ll go call the police.” 

Maybe Jared should have run. 

With a sigh, the grandson shakes his head. “Pop, you just go on inside. I’ll take care of this.” 

“His hands are red! Red-handed!” 

“Pop. Inside. I’ll be right there.” 

Rodney chooses this moment to get involved. Sweet as pie, he asks the grandson if he’d like to press charges. Jared smacks his forehead. Oh, great. Like he’s going to be booked and tossed into the slammer by this motherfucker. Rodney could arrest his own ass. 

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” the grandson says, his tone firm. “I’m curious though, why a place like this needs a security guard with handcuffs. What kinda place is this?”

It is a pleasure to watch Rodney practically piss himself right then and there. 

“Go home, Jared!” Rodney growls. “Visiting hours are over!” 

“I’m staying the night,” Jared hisses. “And I  _ wasn’t  _ stealing this truck.” 

“You didn’t sign in or fill out an overnight pass…”

“Oh, to hell with your pass. I’m out of here.” 

“Just a minute.” The grandson takes two steps towards Jared. “I’m not done with you.” He turns to Rodney and holds his hands up. “What are you doing? Does it look like we need you?” 

“W-well, I need to escort the boy back.”

“I’ll take care of that. Goodnight.” 

Grumbling under his breath, Rodney lumbers away, back to the pit of hell from which he escaped. Jared stuffs his hands into his pockets and looks at the grandson. Well, that sure was strange. He’s aware of the grandson scoping him out, probably making sure Jared doesn’t have any obvious signs of being a serial killer. 

“You’re out late, kid.”

“So are you.”

“Yeah, but I’m not a kid.”

“Me neither.”

“You talk like that--you are.”

“Whatever.”

Surprisingly, the grandson smiles. “Yeah, whatever. You’ve earned yourself the happy chore of helping me unload all this furniture.”

“But I didn’t even do anything!” 

“Do your parents know you’re out this late?”

They do and they don’t. Well, his mother knows, but she’s not the happiest person in the world with him right now. The last thing she needs is some strange man bringing Jared home and telling her he was causing a ruckus at Shady Pines. Then he’ll never be allowed to walk over again. 

“This is blackmail.”

“No,” the grandson says, opening the bed. “This is a table. And it goes to Room 8A.” 

 

In the hour that it takes to move all the furniture--and arrange it according to preference--Jared learns the grandson’s name. 

“Jensen,” he says, holding his hand out for Jared to shake it. They’ve just finished moving the leather arm chair for the fifth and final time. 

Jared looks at the offered hand and grudgingly shakes it. “Jared.” 

“I gathered,” Jensen murmurs. “That rent-a-cop’s got your number.”

“Yeah,” Jared scoffs. “But can he read it?” 

Most adults don’t laugh at Jared’s remarks. Luke will shake his head, his mother will snap at him to quit being so immature, and teachers enjoy reminding him about the importance of manners and respect. Jensen, however, laughs, clear as a bell. He wipes sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt and looks around the apartment. Charles, his grandfather and Jared’s accuser, chose one of the smaller apartment layouts. Jared figures it wasn’t because of any issue with money, but he’s not about to ask. 

“Looks kinda sparse, don’t it?” 

“I guess.” 

“Pop,” Jensen calls out, leaning towards the bedroom. “I’ll bring you some paintings and a tablecloth tomorrow.” When he doesn’t receive an immediate response, he wanders over. Jared can hear them go back and forth about details. Charles is clearly fond of his grandson, but still in love with having his own way. 

A few minutes later, Jensen emerges. He signals Jared to be quiet and turns off the light in the living room. 

Outside, Jensen lets out a breath he had been holding. “That was harder than I thought.” 

“What was?” 

“You know…” Jensen opens the passenger door to pickup. “Leaving him here.” 

In his time visiting Shady Pines, Jared has seen every kind of drop off, from the dramatic to the disinterested. This seemed fairly calm, though what does Jared know? He just met these people. 

“If it’s tough,” Jared offers, “that’s probably a good sign or something.” 

Jensen smiles again. “I figure you’re right.” 

Jared isn’t supposed to take rides from strangers. But being accused of attempted grand theft auto and then moving an entire truck bed of furniture means that they aren’t strangers anymore. Besides, anyone who talks about leaving their grandfather at Shady Pines with an expression like that can’t be terrible. 


	7. Chapter 7

Luke’s three boys--Aaron, Adam, and Andy--share Jared’s old bedroom upstairs. It was difficult not to resent them for that, but after a few weeks of occupying the space, any attachment Jared had to the space died. Three boys from the ages of six to thirteen made quick work of destroying it. Jared rarely goes upstairs. He doesn’t want to see how the boys live. The last time he went up to summon them from dinner, the floor was covered in a six inch layer of dirty clothes and the walls were covered in tattered posters and dirty handprints. 

Jared summons them from the bottom of the stairs for breakfast.

Three heinous sets of noises and belches sound out from above. Jared shudders. 

Last night, Jensen dropped him off a block away. He actually listened to Jared’s request to do so, citing concerns that the last thing he needed was for his mother and stepfather to catch him getting a ride from a much older alpha. Jensen corrected Jared--he isn’t  _ that  _ old, just twenty-five. Jared countered that twenty-five might as well be fifty-five as far as his parents were concerned. Once Jared divulged his age, Jensen went a bit quiet. Still. He was nice about it.

The best part, however, was that no one heard him slip in last night, not even the dogs. 

Breakfast has been hauled out onto the dining room table and spread out like a carcass. Jared takes Baby Rose from his mother and plops her into her high chair. Baby Rose doesn’t use a plate because she is a baby and that is acceptable. Once the boys take their seats, Jared stares at them in disgust. They might as well stop pretending they even use their plates. 

“Sensible bites,” Luke grumbles, smacking a biscuit from Andy’s hand. “Go on and wash those hands. Your mother made a nice breakfast.” 

“I want a burger!” Aaron stands up on his chair. “Daaaaaaaad! I want a burger! With ketchup!”

“You got ketchup right there. Put it on your eggs.”

“That’s so gross!!” 

“You want me to make you sit?” 

“But I want a burger, dad!” 

Luke works construction. He wants to build them a house big enough to actually live in, but it’s going to take a year or two to gather the funds and materials. For now, all they can do is scrape by and save up. He’s alright. Jared tries to remember that parents shouldn’t be judged by their children, no matter how messy they may be. He’s good with Baby Rose when he gets the chance to spend time with her. And he usually gives Jared space. 

“I’ll make you a burger later, Aaron.” Jared’s mother pats Aaron on the head, getting him to sit down. “This is nice, all of us together for breakfast.” 

Jared chooses to hold his tongue. He pokes at his scrambled eggs, then glances over at Baby Rose. She has chosen to wear most of her breakfast today. He reaches over with his napkin and gives her chubby face a good wipe before she can fuss about it. 

Cooing from the attention, Baby Rose claps her hands. 

As long as she’s not crying, Jared actually doesn’t mind her. Too much. 

“Got a job today,” Luke announces. “Shouldn’t run too late.” 

“Maybe Jared wants to go with?” The ultimate betrayal! And from his mother, of all people at this table! 

“Not gonna force anyone to work,” Luke murmurs, “but I’ll be fair and pay you for the help.” 

The boys complain and beg to go instead. Jared’s mother continues to make herself Mrs. Popular and chimes in that she can use some help around the house. Luke ends all complaints and whines from the boys with a single look. Maybe, if Jared goes along to the job today, he can learn that look. 

“Sure,” he sighs, scrambled eggs hitting the left side of his face. “Why not.” 

Baby Rose laughs, clearly the wisest one at the table. 


	8. Chapter 8

Town has three sections to it: residential homes, shops, and ranches. 

Two stop lights control traffic downtown, while the rest is up to God and His good graces. Or so that’s what Grams always says. Stop signs and lights are usually just suggestions. It’s easy to spot tourists and outsiders by their willingness to follow the law. 

Construction on the main road, and on some older houses closer to downtown, gives Luke a steady paycheck without having to drive two or three towns over for work. He also fixes stuff for folks, patches their roofs, and builds birdhouses for anyone willing to pay for one. And even though it’s Saturday, and he’s worked all week, he didn’t even consider turning down a job that pays cash. 

Jared helped him load the truck before heading out for the Miller ranch. Luke explains that a friend of his from trade school bought the dilapidated ranch at a good price. What Luke doesn’t understand is why his friend chose this parcel of land in this town. It’s out of the way, there ain’t nothing special about this soil or the stock, and ten grand more could have got him a really nice investment without so much work. 

But work for his friend means work for him, so he’s not about to complain. 

Hills only exist in the distance. The twenty minute ride from home to the old Miller ranch doesn’t get them any closer to elevation. All the land around them is flat. Flat and boring. 

At least the weather cooperates. A few clouds in the sky don’t bother Jared; they provide some welcome respite from the sun as he helps Luke unload supplies. They’ve got a cooler with lunch, which Mom packed for them, two large tool boxes, two post hole diggers, and a spool of barbed wire. The ranch looks exactly how Luke said it would: in need of help. The roof on the main house sags to the right like a drunk at a bar, fighting to stay upright. Shutters over dirty windows threaten to fall at the slightest hint of a breeze. 

The topper on the cake, however, is the bright pink door. 

Who in the hell thought a pink door was a good idea? Or maybe it is a good idea after all. Jared’s too busy staring at the door to continue noticing much else that’s wrong with the place. 

“We’re gonna be building a split rail fence,” Luke says as he passes Jared a hardhat. “It’s simple work, but there’s a lot of it. If you have a question about how things are done, ask. I’d rather take a second to answer than spend an hour fixing a mistake.” 

Split between the two of them, they carry the supplies and tools out back, behind the main house. A barn sits not too far away, though it looks nothing like the barns on other ranches. For such a large property, Jared would have figured that the Millers kept a larger barn. Or at the very least, maybe taken care of it. But it seems to be the same story as the main house and the rest of the property. No wonder Luke’s friend got this place cheap. But what to think of Luke’s friend? Clearly, the man has no business sense. However, purchasing this ranch tells Jared that he has a masochistic streak, so that might prove him interesting. 

“Jared.”

“Hmm?”

“I appreciate you taking care of Rose.”

“Oh.” Jared sets down the toolbox he was given to carry. “Thanks.” 

“You gonna be alright missing that test?” 

“Sure.” 

“You know, I once knew a guy who lived in a chicken coop.” 

“Did he think he was a chicken?” 

“Nah, wasn’t anything like that. He just didn’t have anywhere else to go. So one of the farmers said he could stay in the old chicken coop since he built a new one. He hadn’t gotten to tearing down the old one yet.” 

“I bet it smelled.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t want to live in a chicken coop.”

Luke smiles for half a second. “My point is: chicken coops ain’t that hard to build.”

“...you wanna raise chickens?”

“Not in this lifetime. No, I mean, I can build you something like a chicken coop out in the yard. Wouldn’t be fancy, maybe like a big treehouse on the ground.” 

At least a chicken coop wouldn’t look as bad as this ranch. And he’d be guaranteed privacy, plus some peace and quiet. And maybe an actual morning routine that doesn’t involve listening to his stepbrothers argue. Winter would be a challenge. But then again, privacy. Peace and quiet. The ability to sleep in a lying down position. 

It just seems too good to be true. And an annoying piece of guilt tugs at Jared. Sure, Luke is the one offering, but when exactly has he got the time to build something? For free? 

“I’m fine in my… room,” Jared says, stumbling there at the end. “But thanks.” 

Adults don’t make sense to Jared. And it seems that he doesn’t make sense to adults. 

Luke and Jared stand a good three feet away from each other. For a moment, their eyes meet. Jared is the first to look away and Luke is the first to talk. 

“I’m not trying to take anyone’s place.” His voice is softer, more controlled in volume. “Maybe just trying to make my own.” 

Great. As if the gnawing guilt raging inside Jared didn’t have enough to work with. 

Thankfully, the universe gifts Jared with an out in the form of a cherry red pickup truck coasting to a stop at the main house. When the color and the out of state plates match up in Jared’s head, it’s too late to pray for a hole to open up in the earth and take him that way instead. 

Jensen steps out.

He looks good, not that that matters,  more like a rancher today than the concerned grandson from last night. After closing the driver’s side door, he checks something in the bed, then strides over without a care in the world. Has he not recognized Jared? Is he  _ that _ kind of alpha? Jared might not be gunning to grace the covers of magazines or anything, but he helped the man move furniture. For free! 

“Here’s a familiar face,” Jensen hoots, seizing Luke’s hand and pulling him in for a tight hug. 

“Can’t say the same about yours.”

“Oh yeah? I got handsomer.” 

“And still so modest.” Luke pats Jensen on the shoulder and motions to Jared. “This here’s Jared. Jared, Jensen.” 

The slightest rise of Jensen’s eyebrows signifies that he  _ does _ recognize Jared. But he rolls with things and shakes Jared’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Jared. Thanks for helping today.” 

Jared’s response is so brilliant, so eloquent, so… “Yeah. Thanks.” 

So not great.

It’d be no big thing if Luke found out Jared had met Jensen last night, but it could turn into a big deal depending on how he saw it. And then depending on how his mother saw it. Sure, Jensen has turned out to be a family friend, but Jared didn’t know that at the time. He still got into a stranger’s pickup late at night. 

“Let me show y’all the setup I got.” Jensen and Luke walk ahead, though Jared purposefully allows for that. He maintains space so the two alphas can talk and catch up, and wonders how exactly they know each other. There are a few differences between them that Jared can spot outright. Jensen’s hands aren’t as calloused as Luke’s. Luke holds equipment and tools with more confidence and self-assurance. Jensen’s accent sounds more muddled. 

None of these observations count for much more than being nosy. 

The barn stands in better condition than the main house. Inside, it looks pretty standard to Jared, just like any other one he’s seen thanks to field trips and career days. Nothing says dedication to teaching children like shoving them off on local adults to learn real world applications for their geometry homework. 

Since Jensen hasn’t moved his stock over--he mentions to Luke that he’s not aiming for quantity, just three cows, a couple of horses, the essentials--all the pens are empty. And instead of being choked by the stench of manure, Jared picks up the smell of fresh hay, sawdust, and grass. 

A pile of wood large enough to fill three truck beds rests in the middle of the barn, neatly stacked and protected from the elements. 

“I got the guys to help do this part,” Jensen murmurs. “And we should have all the supplies. But if you think there’s something we need, don’t be shy.”

Under normal circumstances, Jared would take the time to freak the hell out. 

Fortunately for everyone involved, he isn’t given that time. Luke jumps right into work and tosses Jared the keys to the truck. Suddenly, it’s Jared’s responsibility to bring the truck around so they can load up the bed. 

“Are you sure?” Jared blurts out. “I mean…” He’s about to add that he’s only driven his mother’s car twice before, which would totally turn him in as completely incompetent. And he’s willing to risk that to avoid utter embarrassment. 

But Luke beats him to it with an encouraging, “Go on, bring it ‘round.” 

Jared grips the keys in his hand and nods. Luke doesn’t let the boys even think about touching his truck. He washes and waxes it once a week without fail. It’s part of what little he brought with him and the boys when they moved in. And Jared knows a symbolic olive branch when he sees one. On his walk back to the truck, he wonders how Jensen and Luke know each other, and, most importantly, if Jensen is an adult that understands the art of tact. 

Arriving at the truck, Jared looks it over and takes a deep breath. 

He can do this.

Luke trusts him.

A truck isn’t that different from a car. It’s got all the same stuff inside, just arranged a little different. Jared climbs in, gets situated, and adjusts the rearview mirror. Okay. Great. Nothing has exploded just yet. The keys fit where they’re supposed to and the engine responds with the appropriate motion. There’s the brake. The accelerator. There’s the radio in case he wanted to listen to static, just to soothe his nerves or something. Oh, and look, he hadn’t noticed the presence of  _ two _ cup holders in the front before. 

“Get it together,” Jared cries to himself, cringing like no one has ever cringed before. “I can do this. I can do this. It’s just like mom’s car. It’s just like mom’s car.” 

Somehow, Jared manages to inch the car forward a few inches. Those inches gradually become a couple of feet. He might drive the truck at five miles an hour, but dammit, he drives it without hitting anything or running anyone over.

The universe spits in his face as he realizes, stopped right outside the barn doors and in full view of Luke and Jensen, that he has to back into the barn. 

If he thought his knuckles were turning white before, now they’ve reached a whole new hue.

Luke moves to walk over. Jared yips and makes sure his foot is actually on the brake. He rolls down the window, practically hyperventilating. Please don’t make him do this. Please don’t make him do this. 

“You did just fine,” Luke says and adds a nod. “You stop real good, slow and steady, not all at once. Place it in park and I’ll do the rest. Scoot over so I can show you.” 

Jared ends up learning two things that afternoon: how to build a fence and how to backup a truck into a barn. 


	9. Chapter 9

Building a fence is more than placing holes in the ground. 

Luke checks to make sure they won’t damage utility lines, or incur fines from the township. He looks over Jensen’s permits and other administrative, official looking documents. This must have been a project in the works, since Luke goes over a sketch of the overall project. Jensen figures that he got the right amount of lumber, if not a little more than they’ll need. 

Up first, Luke teaches Jared how to establish an outline. This involves driving stakes into the ground a few feet past each corner or end post. Next, they connect them with bright red mason’s string tied about twelve inches above grade--whatever that means. Luke handles all the spacing and measuring; Jared just follows instructions and does as he’s told. He maintains an awareness about where Jensen is and what he’s doing, despite probably needing to pay more attention to what Luke is showing him to do. Over at a corner, Luke takes time to explain the process. 

He points to a spike, his gloves weathered and worn from a multitude of previous projects. “We gotta check that each corner is square. You learned the Pythagorean theorem in school?” 

“Yeah.”

“You remember it?”

Jared hesitates. Does it make him seem studious or sad if he recites it? So he settles. “Yeah.” 

“Well, remember it this way: 3-4-5. You stick tape here, three feet from the corner, then another here at four feet.” Luke goes through these motions like breathing. “Now you measure five feet diagonally from tape to tape. This way we know this corner is ninety degrees.” 

Something smart and full of sass hangs at the tip of Jared's tongue, begging to be spoken aloud. 

“Yes, sir.” Oh thank god. 

Unfortunately, this response gives Luke the impression that Jared actually understood what was just taught to him. Reciting the Pythagorean theorem is one thing; assembling something someone bought and paid for is another. Of course, Luke only continues, talking and showing how they mark holes for line posts using yellow spray paint. He trusts Jared to do a few of them while he heads back to the truck for rails to lay down. 

Shaking this can, Jared briefly contemplates spray painting something obscene on Roy’s car. He might never be allowed back to Shady Pines… if anyone ever found him out. If being the key word. 

“Boy, you look like a mule with a spinning wheel.” Jensen walks over, smiling like he has a reason to. 

“Excuse me?” Maybe he'll spray paint Jensen's truck instead. “I'm  _ not _ a mule.”

“I mean with what Luke just told you. The mule doesn't know how he got it and he'll be damned if he knows how to use it.”

Jared stares at Jensen for a long while. His brow furrows in observation. “You don't talk much to omegas, do you?”

Jensen instantly goes beet red from ear to ear. “Y-you don't talk much to your elders, do you?”

“Clever,” Jared snips. “You gonna tell Luke how late I was out last night?”

“I hadn't thought of mentioning it. Were you worried?”

“No.”

“Uh huh.”

“Don't you have work to do?”

“Wow,” Jensen laughs. “You don't mess around, do you?”

Adults don't typically talk to Jared unless they want to weed out a favor or force him to do chores. Or embarrass him. Exactly none of those options thrill Jared. He's not sure what to do about Jensen except to get rid of him. His expression must convey that. 

“For your information,” Jensen says, hands on his hips, “I figured I'd learn a bit from Luke in case I have to patch up some of this fence one day.”

“So you're saying you think he'll do a crap job.”

“Yea--no! I did not say that.”

“Say what?” Luke holds a bundle of rails and what looks like a sledgehammer. 

Another terribly smart, sassy thing dances on the tip of Jared's tongue. But.  _ But _ . This is a paying job, even if Luke and Jensen are friends. 

“Jensen says you're gonna do a crap job.” Dammit. 

“Good thing I'm charging him double then.” Luke sets everything down and hands Jared the hammer while Jensen insists on his faith in the job. 

For the next hour and a half, the three of them work at driving holes into the posts and doing as much as they can around the perimeter of land. Luke moves from task to task seamlessly, and both Jared and Jensen shuffle along like mules with spinning wheels. As the sky turns magenta, it becomes clear to Jared that this can't possibly be a one day job. Or a two day job. They've barely done a quarter of the necessary marking and plotting, and they haven't dug a single hole in the ground, or even broken much of a sweat. 

“Can’t do much more than that today,” Luke declares. He resides over their small team with an unrelenting, yet friendly sense of authority. Even Jensen follows his every word. “I got time tomorrow and Monday afternoon.”

“Sundays are for rest, Luke.” Jensen pats Luke on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t make you work.”

Surprisingly, Luke frowns. Jared would jump at the chance to rest if he were Luke. “I might not have more time during the week.” 

They worked a total of four hours today, and while they flew by relatively quick, Jared is ready to plop down and not move for at least twice that amount of time. He remains silent throughout this conversation, knowing better than to interject his own opinions about Sundays. 

“Well,” Jensen murmurs, stroking his chin, “then I guess tomorrow works.” 

“You won’t need to help.” 

“Ah, I’ll try. Don’t know how much help I’ll be, but it’ll do me good to be out on my own land.” 

“That it would.” 

“And I’ll pay you overtime for the trouble.”

“That’s not…”

“Don’t argue, Luke. Just say, ‘Thanks, Jensen, you’re fantastic and handsome.’” 

Jared pipes up to alleviate some of the tension. “Thanks, Jensen, you're fantastic and handsome.”

Both adults look at Jared, Luke in awe and Jensen in amusement. 

“See?” This time, Jared receives a pat on the shoulder. “Someone's got it. See y'all both tomorrow. Let's say, eleven? I'd like to sleep in for once.” 

The adults take a few minutes to talk amongst themselves. Jared waits for Luke in the truck, sitting in the bed and swinging his legs. It must be nice to own a bunch of land and have the resources to work it. Or a bunch of land and the ability to stretch out on it without care or worry about another person. 

Suppose that's how he could live one day. 

It is nice, though, that on the way home, Luke stops and buys them cheeseburgers. Jared doesn't have to share a single bite of his. 


	10. Chapter 10

“I need Jared here to take care of Rose, Luke. Can't you take one of the boys?”

“I’d have to train them. I already showed Jared what to do. I’d waste time.”

“But you're getting overtime.”

“He's paying me to work, Kate, not train an apprentice. Mrs. Frost offered to watch Rose on Sundays.”

“You don't leave Jared alone with him, do you?”

“Jensen ain't like that.”

“I worry, that's all.”

“I do too.”

Silence, for a moment that seems longer than it actually is. 

“...I'll call Mrs. Frost.”

“We'll be back by eight. I'll call around noon to check in on y'all.”

Huh. Well, Jared didn't see that happening. 


	11. Chapter 11

Jensen invites them in for breakfast. 

A chicken waits for them on the table. An actual live chicken. 

“Martha, get away,” Jensen grumbles and swats the air above her. “Go on. Before I revoke your inside privileges.” 

Martha does not leave quietly. She squawks at the rude, forced departure, and stalks off towards the living room. She walks right past the oven without a hint of anxiety. Jared notices the tiny scratch marks on the red checkered table cloth. 

“Sorry, she isn't the best host and neither am I.” Jensen motions towards the table. “Sit down, there's plenty.” 

“I ate,” Luke snorts, struggling to hide a smile. “But this one here got up late.”

Jared didn't get up late. He just had no interest in eating what his mother made for breakfast. To avoid the argument, he waited in his closet until the last possible minute that they had to leave. 

“Good,” Jensen laughs. “I hate eating by myself.”

“You weren't by yourself,” Jared quips. “You made your company leave.”

“Martha is not a morning chicken. She's awful at conversation this early.” 

“Or you're no fun to talk to.”

Tawny eyebrows raise and create an expression of amusement and curiosity. “You might be right about that.”

Luke takes a seat and helps himself to coffee already on the table. “You can't bullshit Jared, Jensen. No adult can.” 

Plates of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast wait atop the table. Jensen and Jared take their seats, coincidentally next to each other. Once Jensen digs in, Jared makes a plate of his own. He expects the eggs to be dry or over salted and the bacon to be under or overcooked. It doesn't look like anyone else but Jensen and Martha live here, and unless Martha is exceptionally skilled, that means Jensen must do all the cooking. 

But it's actually all edible. 

“How you like it?” Jensen inquires, seemingly interested in Jared's opinion. 

Mouth stuffed with a warm meal, Jared nods and attempts to speak. “Ishgud.” He hiccups and manages to add, “Better than Shady Pines.”

Luke looks at Jared questioningly, while Jensen nods. “I'll take that as a compliment.” 

Martha sneaks back in, unnoticed, and Jared sneaks her a piece of toast under the table. Jensen and Luke talk about the fence and what Jensen plans to do with the land. They toss around possibilities but it sounds like Jensen is set on breeding horses and maybe keeping a few other low maintenance animals. They don't talk about juicier facts, things Jared would be far more interested in. He doesn't particularly care about the state of the soil or the cost of lumber to update the barn out back. He wants to know how Jensen got his money, why he chose this town to buy land in, why he chose Shady Pines when it seems like he could afford private care, and how the hell he can make eggs so fluffy. 

Exactly none of these questions find their answers. 

Jensen scoops up the plates from the table with the skill of a seasoned waitress. Luke ushers them all outside. Well, everyone but Martha, who refuses to leave the house. 

Once outside, Luke outlines the next few steps to take. He'll have Jensen and Jared start digging while he drives in more stakes, measures out the rest of the perimeter, marks the rail heights, and sets posts as they go. Essentially, he'll do the actual difficult work and Jensen and Jared will handle the obvious. Digging holes sounds easy enough, especially when using posthole diggers. But Luke instructs them to watch out for rocks, roots, scorpions, and potential pipes or cables. Fortunately, Luke lent Jared a pair of steel toe boots in the event of scorpions. 

“Watch,” Jensen grunts, mid-dig, “I get killed digging a hole.”

The posthole diggers remind Jared of a pair of shovels crossed with scissors. They make digging easier than using shovels, and produce a neater hole, but the ground doesn't automatically yield. 

“At least you’re paying us overtime,” Jared points out, just to be helpful. 

“You got some sense of humor while I’m talking about potentially being murdered by scorpions.”

“I’m sure you’ll survive.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I’ll call Roy and he’ll come to your rescue.”

The distance between holes allows them the freedom to talk without feeling crowded or forced to make conversation. Jensen happens to hit more rocks along the way, while Jared only strikes a few roots here and there. While it’s clear they got the easy work, both of them work up a sweat within half an hour. Jensen abandons his green, plaid shirt after an hour of digging post holes. Somehow, Jensen manages to make his black, sleeveless undershirt look just as dignified. 

“So your grandma lives at Shady Pines?” Jensen takes on a tone that’s inquisitive, but not intrusive--very rare for adults asking teenagers questions. 

Hands on his hips, taking a break from his current post hole, Jared nods. “Yeah, not far from your grandpa’s room.”

“She like it okay?”

“Okay enough.” 

“Yeah, guess there’s not much high praise for a place like that.”

“The meatloaf’s not bad.”

“I make better.”

“You’ve never had theirs, how can you say for certain?”

“Oh, I just know.”

“I’m not sure how to respond to a grown man bragging about meatloaf.”

“You say, ‘I’ll hold you to that and stay for dinner.’” 

“You already fed me breakfast.”

“I like to cook.”

“I hate cooking.”

“I have never met anyone as jaded as you.”

“Then you obviously don’t talk to a lot of teenagers.”

Jensen pauses, digger in the dirt, and shakes his head. “Were you a rattlesnake in a past life?”

In turn, Jared stands up straight, shoulders back and hands on his digger. “If you have to ask, you’ll never know.” 

From another adult, this kind of response might provoke a scolding, maybe even one of those, “Learn to mind your manners in the presence of adults.” But from Jensen, all it produces are some crinkles around his bright eyes and clear laughter. He puts his hands up in a gesture to concede and gets back to work. 

“I’m payin’ overtime for this,” he laughs to himself. 


	12. Chapter 12

Each hole adheres to a standard Luke set: 24 inches deep and 10 inches in diameter. These measurements are important for more than just show; any variation in depth or diameter and it’ll destabilize the posts, rendering them useless against weather, animals, or the bumper of a truck.

While Luke works ahead, Jared and Jensen continue digging posts. 

Three hours pass and not one scorpion appears from the ground intent on murdering Jensen.

During a brief break in the afternoon, Jensen tells Jared the story of how Martha once saved him from getting kicked by a horse. And from that day on, Martha became his most trusted friend and companion--housetrained and everything. It makes sense to him to repay a good deed. Besides, she provides one of the key ingredients to a hearty breakfast; the least he can do is provide her with a comfortable place and his attention every now and then. 

It’s not information Jared typically wants to hear from adults, but it’s interesting and different. It isn’t grocery lists, whining about spouses or children, or malicious gossip about other adults. 

There’s an easy, open quality about Jensen that Jared takes a shine to. 

It makes work and their subsequent conversations fly by. Sunset arrives and Luke assesses their progress. He declares it not bad for a pair of rookie post hole diggers. Jared tries his best to stay on his feet and avoid passing out. It’s somewhat maybe possibly a little possible that he underestimated the amount of work this would take. And the amount of land Jensen owns.

Walking back to the main house, Jared lags behind, enough to give the adults their space but close enough to tune in and out of their conversations.

“She treatin’ you alright, that wife of yours?”

“Plenty. Got the new baby. You should swing by. We’d like to have you for dinner.”

“That’s nice of you, and congratulations, but let’s say you ask Kate first.”

“I need to ask before I invite my friend over for dinner?”

“I’m sayin’ that you should be considerate and inform your spouse before you just up and invite someone over. Sheesh.” 

“And since when are you so considerate?”

“You ever been to that old folks’ home?” 

“Shady Pines?”

“That’s the one.”

“Been there a few times with Kate to visit her mother-in-law.” 

Jensen glances back towards Jared for only a second. Jared looks away, confused by the blush that spreads across his face. 

The three of them reach the main house, where Martha waits for them on the front porch.

“Let’s just say, seeing something like that,” Jensen opens the bright pink door for them to head inside, “makes you be more considerate.” 


	13. Chapter 13

Three days later, Grams takes Jared out for hot fudge sundaes, despite receiving an F on his chemistry exam. 

Roy drives them into town in a Shady Pines shuttle--they sit in the bed of an old pickup truck, laughing every time they slide around. Thankfully, their drive to town doesn’t take long, and neither boasts any major injuries or wounds. 

In a series of grunts and grumbles, Roy details that he’ll be back in exactly one hour to pick them up. He also sees fit to mention that the shuttle is for Shady Pines residents only, not their kin. Grams shoos him off with a quip about where exactly his paycheck comes from. 

Together, Jared and Grams wander about town. 

They visit the library, where Grams chats with a few folks in the entryway and Jared browses the books. He has a card and would like to use it, but the cretins that he lives with ran up fines on his card and there’s been no money to pay them off. In the grand scheme of things, Jared’s library fines--which aren’t even  _ his _ \--aren’t that important to his mother or Luke. Five dollars is a lot to rack up and it’s a lot to pay off. Grams has a card, but he doesn’t feel right asking for her to check anything out. The boys might get to a library book and destroy it, then they’d owe even more money. 

It’s nice just to look at them.

Mrs. Sheffield, the librarian, keeps the library tidy and quiet. He’d come here every day if he wasn’t needed at home so much.

After the library, Grams directs them towards the jelly and jam shop. She buys a jar of apricot jam for herself and a jar of strawberry jelly for Jared. He plans to spread it on toast for breakfast before school. 

Close to the end of their hour of freedom, they descend on the ice cream parlor. 

“Tell me about this fence,” Grams requests as she slides into their bright red booth. “Sounds like Luke’s putting you to work.”

Jared rolls his eyes. “Grams, I told you. I’m just helping out.”

“Mmhmm. But you been helping out all week. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you be so helpful.”

“I get paid some.” They place their order with Mikey, who isn’t much older than Jared. “Luke’s been nice about that.”

“So you’re rich now, huh? Guess you don’t need your withered old grandmother around to provide for you anymore.”

“She can buy me my sundae, I won’t stop her.”

“How dare you,” Grams snips with a smile and fixes her hair. “I’m not withered. Far from it. But I am old, I’ll give you that.” She sighs and looks out the window. The view isn’t much. Nothing in town is much. But it’s there. That has to count for something. “You keep gettin’ older and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Soon, you’ll be married and buying ice cream for your own family.”

Jared rolls his eyes and makes a face. “No  _ way _ . I’m gonna live in a big house alone forever. I won’t ever have to share a bathroom again.” Or sleep in a closet. Grams doesn’t need to know that. Or fight for food. Another thing she doesn’t need to know. Or look after Rose in the evenings with increasing frequency, so much so that he hardly has time to do his homework. That’s just the way things are in his house. And her knowing or worrying won’t change a thing. 

What he can do is squirrel away every dollar Luke gives him.

And hope that one day, he’ll have more to eat for breakfast than strawberry jam on toast.


	14. Chapter 14

Baby Rose catches her first cold and runs a fever for two nights. 

No one in the house sleeps for more than a few hours at a time, even the boys, though they complain louder than she cries and don’t even offer to help. 

Jared finds himself washing out diapers at four in the morning while his mother tries to get some liquids into Baby Rose. His hands and forearms turn a bright red from the heat of the water. The smell of it, plus the steam, lack of dinner and sleep, make him dizzy. Luke comes into the bathroom at five, looking about as rested as dirt. He’s gotta get ready for work. Jared wrings out the last diaper, hangs it on a line hung above the sink, and vanishes. He tiptoes back to his pantry and sleeps for a good ten minutes. 

“I can’t miss work again,” his mother whispers right outside his door. “Jared, I’m sorry, but I can’t call off twice in a week.”

So many things he wants to say.

So many things he knows are useless to say. Get one of the boys to stay with Baby Rose. Yeah, sure, that’ll work well. Get Mrs. Whatever to watch her. Uh huh, at five in the morning when the sun isn’t up. Let Baby Rose fend for herself. It’s about damn time she figure out what the real world is like. 

Useless, all of that, and he knows it. Won’t help anyone.

Both Luke and his mother have to go to work because that’s how food gets bought and the house gets paid for. If they don’t go, there’s no telling what else they’ll do with out next week. If Jared doesn’t go to school, well, no one suffers from that. 

At least, no one outside the pantry.

Jared trudges up the stairs and collapses in the rocking chair near Baby Rose’s crib. She sleeps fitfully, same as Jared. The difference is that he hears the argument between their parents downstairs. 

“I don’t understand you, Kate.”

“It’s one day. And I didn’t ask for your opinion. Unless you got another way.”

“...you’re worried about him being around older alphas, but you got no problem with him missing school. Don’t you see what’s wrong with that?”

“It’s one day--not a century. He’ll be fine. He’s smart.”

“Smart doesn’t finish school staying at home babysitting. You know that.” Luke leaves. He closes the front door a little harder than he should. 

All that matters to anyone left in the house is that Baby Rose doesn’t wake up from it.

His mother leaves not too long after. Jared pretends to sleep while she fusses around in the nursery for a minute. He ignores the boys as she corrals them out of the house and into the truck to drop them off at school. Finally alone, Jared scoots the rocking chair closer to the crib and peers at his sister. His only sister. How much will she look like him when she gets older? Will they look anything alike? 

For two hours, they sleep without a single disturbance. 

When she wakes up in the middle of hour three, Jared has a bottle ready and a towel thrown over his shoulder. She makes somewhat of a scene due to her nose running. Jared wipes away baby snot with a tissue and talks to her about anything that comes to mind. The good thing about missing school--besides not having to deal with his peers or teachers--is that he gets to be alone with the one person in his life that won’t spill his secrets. He catches her up on a bunch of things, like how Grams said Mrs. Harris keeps receiving expensive purses in the mail, but what good does that do when she’s eighty and tosses them all into a corner of her bedroom? Over baby food, changed diapers, and more snotty tissues, he rambles on.

He tells her about Jensen and the fence they’re building with Luke. Oh--and Martha. And how he doesn’t understand why their mother worries so much about Jensen. Or what about what Jensen said to Luke? That he’s not exactly on her good side? 

Baby Rose spits up all over Jared’s shirt.

Sighing, Jared goes with it. He doesn’t scream or interrupt her stream of spit up. 

Oddly enough, this doesn’t deter him from fixing himself lunch. Not that there’s much to fix. He scrapes around the kitchen and cobbles together something some cafeteria somewhere might agree looks like lunch--a small, hard apple, a handful of sunflower seeds, and two slices of toast. Way in the back of a cupboard, he discovers some crackers and peanut butter. Baby Rose works on whatever it is that babies work on while he eats. 

“That meatloaf Jensen talked about making,” Jared tells his sister, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “That sure sounds good right about now. You think he’ll actually make it?”

Whatever semblance of peace they shared ends with a burp from Baby Rose. Burping must have triggered something in her baby world because it causes her to unleash an unending cycle of crying. Her little, chubby face becomes red with fury at Jared’s obvious role in destroying the world as she knows it. He tries to burp her again and her tiny fists swing in retaliation. New diaper? Nope. Hungry? Nuh uh. 

A diabolical scheme to wring every last bit of energy and sanity from Jared?

Yep.


	15. Chapter 15

He ropes several stuffed animals into his plan to stop her crying for just a second, but they fail him. Nothing works. His ears hurt. His head hurts. Again--what’s his mother got to worry about? He’s never having kids ever--never ever. This is the best birth control anyone could get. And he wasn’t even asking.

Since nothing else works, he takes drastic action and wraps her in a blanket, then takes her outside. He sits on the porch with her, this tiny, squirming, crying enigma of a sister. 

The sound of a truck approaching prompts him to freeze for a second. Who could be visiting at this hour? Everyone’s at work. Or supposed to be. For a split second, Jared thinks it might be Jensen. But he wouldn’t come over without being invited, he said that. Maybe he knows Jared’s alone? But then he’d be even less likely to come over. He’d never swing by just to visit with Jared. 

...would he?

Dust from the driveway settles and Jared recognizes the blue truck. It’s not Jensen, but it’s still a surprise when Luke walks up to them.

“Why are you outside? What’s wrong?” Luke tips back the cowboy hat he had on and looks down at Jared on the step. He blocks the sun, which provides some relief. 

Jared scrunches his nose. “Why are you home?”

“For stuff. She been crying like this all day?” He picks her up from Jared, a little shaky at first with his grip, but he eventually gets it. 

“No, just in the past hour. I don’t know what happened. Something set her off. So we came out here. I thought it’d help?” 

Luke shakes his head. Jared can’t figure out if he’s displeased with Jared’s supervision or the situation. Or both. Could be both.

Baby Rose stops crying just as abruptly as she started. Luke pats her back and she lets out a burp that’s more like a belch that could shatter world records. Unbothered by her actions, she rests against Luke’s shoulder, snuggling up like an innocent angel. 

“I tried that,” Jared blurts out. “I tried earlier…”

“Jared.”

“Look, I tried everything I knew.”

“Jared.” Luke motions towards the road. “Go. I’ll take it from here.”

“...what?” 

“Go. Go do whatever it is kids your age should be doing. Thank you for watching her, but I got it now.”

“Are… are you sure?”

“Just be back before dark.”

“Yes, sir.”

The afternoon opens itself up to him, this previously hidden wonder he only dreamt of. Gifted with time to himself, he runs. 


	16. Chapter 16

The dust alongside the paved road that leads to Shady Pines is familiar. 

Jared pretends that he’s walking on Mars. Rocks are small craters that he propels to Earth. A giant spider he encounters halfway on his travels is a Martian, and signifies that life does exist on barren terrain. The hems of Jared’s jeans become dusty from travelling the surface of this inhospitable planet.

He can get dinner with Grams. Maybe check-in with the ladies and see if Mrs. Dorrington is back from rehab. She took a fall three weeks ago and was transferred to a portion of Shady Pines specifically for rehab and physical therapy. Visitation is strict there, and she’s got her own kin checking in on her at least twice a week, so Jared hasn’t wanted to hang around and intrude. 

Maybe there’s a project or two Grams could use help with in her apartment. 

The sound of a truck driving up reminds him that he’s walking on a road and not on the surface of Mars. At least if he lived on the surface of Mars, he might get a few hours of peace and quiet without having to worry why Luke left work early and the consequences of that later. 

But Luke’s an adult, right? He can make those decisions. 

It’s not like Jared called and begged him to come home. 

He would have been fine with Baby Rose--eventually. 

“Fancy meeting you here,” Jensen calls out from his truck. “I’ve never seen anyone look so serious on a walk down a road.” 

Maybe this planet isn’t so inhospitable. Jared shields his eyes from the sun and peers over at Jensen. He wears a green, plaid button down, crisp and ironed. Maybe Martha helped pick it out. Why should Jared care? Besides the fact that it makes Jensen’s eyes stand out even more. 

“I’m minding my own business,” Jared hollers back. 

“Hmm. I’m not good at that.” Jensen drives at five miles an hour to keep up with Jared’s pace. The tires crunch gravel beneath them. 

“Not good at what?”

“Mindin’ my own business. You need a ride?” 

Jared needs lots of things. Some pocket money would be nice. A bike, maybe, so he didn’t have to walk everywhere. High quality earplugs so he’d never have to hear his step-brothers roughhousing, Baby Rose crying, or his mother nagging ever again. And a room of his own, fully furnished, with a dresser, a nightstand, and a bookcase. The things he needs seem like such small requests, yet they couldn’t be further from coming into fruition. Not unless building this fence makes Luke a millionaire. 

Puzzled, Jared stops walking. Jensen glides his truck to a smooth stop. He sits, casual and almost boyish, an expression on his face that looks almost like…

“You wanna have afternoon tea with me and my Grams?” Jared blurts these words out before he can truly think of their meaning or consequence. “I mean. Uh. In exchange for the ride.”

Jensen taps his chin. “Hmm. I’ll take you up on that offer, though I’m more of a coffee drinker.”

“She has coffee.”

“Well, alright then, climb aboard.” In a series of swift, confident motions, Jensen reaches over and opens the passenger side door for Jared. And once he does, Jared lays eyes on an outstretched hand. 

It just seems like a very nice thing to do. 

Jared slips his hand into Jensen’s and accepts the help climbing aboard. Not that he needed it. But it was given to him anyway. Just like this ride to Shady Pines. It wasn’t something he needed, but Jensen made it happen.

“You okay?” Jensen drives as easily as breathing. He maintains a steady speed, neither too fast nor too slow for the road or their trip. 

Looking down at the dashboard, Jared nods. “Yeah, just tired. I had to take care of my sister today.”

“Yeesh, that’s draining.”

“Do you have kids?” Where that question comes from, Jared has no idea. 

With a laugh, Jensen shakes his head. “Holy hell,  _ no _ . I have an older brother and he’s got kids. They’re enough for everyone. I got Martha. I suspect she’d be jealous if I ever added a kid into the mix.” Jensen parks in a visitor’s space. The parking lot to Shady Pines could never be described as large. The lines for parking spaces can hardly be seen anymore. 

“Do you want kids?” Jensen asks this after he cuts the engine, but before he opens his door. 

Jared keeps the same hand he touched Jensen’s with on the door handle. He gives it a small squeeze before he answers. 

“You really  _ don’t  _ talk to a lot of omegas.” Jared hops out of the truck. “C’mon, this way.”

Boots quickly follow sneakers.

“Hey, what’s with that answer? I’ve talked to omegas. I’m talking to you.”

“I don’t count.”

“Oh, you don’t count.”

“Nope.”

“How come?”

“Because I said so.”

“Because why?”

“Stop that, you’re a grown man.”

“And you are avoiding my questions. So answer me straight--what do you mean by all that?”

They walk in unison towards Grams’ building. Maybe this is a bad idea. Jared hasn’t prepared her or even asked ahead of time if it was okay to bring Jensen over. What if she’s not feeling well? Or out? Or what if she phones his mother out of concern that he’s suddenly taking rides from older alphas and spending time with them unsupervised?

He’s doing the opposite of what his mother wants--he’s not at home, in the house, surrounded by family and responsibilities. 

Huh.

Jared stops and turns to face Jensen. 

“I’ve changed my mind. Would it be okay if I worked on the fence for a few hours?” 

Jensen’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “What? Well… I mean, I don’t know. Luke’s the man with the plan.”

“We’ve got holes to dig, and they’re all marked. It’d make things go faster for him to get that out of the way.”

“You’re really set on this, huh?”

“If you’ll pay me.”

“Heh, you’re not kidding. Alright.” Jensen places a hand on Jared’s shoulder. “Tell you what. I drove out this way to visit with my Pop. And I bet you were fixing on visiting with your Grams. So let’s finish that and then we can see about you clockin’ in some overtime.” 

That shirt really does bring out his eyes.

Maybe Jared doesn’t answer fast enough, because Jensen adds, “You wanna split up and meet back here or you wanna be partners in crime?”

From the inhospitable surface of Mars to around the moon and back, Jared smiles. 

“We can be partners in crime. Just this once.”


	17. Chapter 17

Shady Pines bills itself as a community for the golden years. They print the pamphlets on super shiny paper, with no shortage of smiling seniors plastered on any available space. In delicate lettering, the pamphlets detail the many amenities and conveniences enjoyed by all Shady Pines residents. 

One line Jared memorized long ago is: “Everywhere you look, people are playing cards, sharing meals, telling stories, taking trips, and enjoying life in our fun and outgoing community.” 

When Jared and Jensen find Grams, she’s mopping up the remains of a clogged sink in her apartment. 

“I kept telling them,” she sighs and motions to the warped floorboards and inch of water, “they needed to come out here sooner rather than later. Now it’s later and--Jared!” She finally looks up from the floor and notices Jensen in the doorway of the kitchen. “How dare you bring company when I’m not fit to be seen! My goodness, what a first impression.” 

If enjoying life means mopping up sink water and fixing what shouldn’t be broken or should already be taken care of--then Shady Pines might as well be a damn circus of fun. 

Predictably, Grams muscles her way past Jared and introduces herself to Jensen. 

“Good lord, you’re a tall drink of water.” The once over she gives Jensen leaves no room to doubt that she appreciates the view. “You must be Luke’s friend.”

Also predictably, Jensen shakes her hand and turns on the charm. “Yes ma’am, I have the pleasure of knowing Luke and Jared, and now you.” 

Grams shoots Jared a look of immense approval. “I hope you’re treating my grandson right when he’s helping the two of you out.”

“I do right by him,” Jensen drawls. “Least, I hope I do.”

A pile of blushing goo, Jared squeaks out, “He does.” 

Jared has never brought anyone to meet Grams. Not because he hasn’t wanted to. He just hasn’t ever met anyone worth bringing over. Recently, in class, his homeroom teacher had their desks pushed in a circle when they arrived and he knew that could only mean the worst: interacting with his classmates. 

Maybe there’s a classmate who isn’t self-absorbed or solely interested in where to spend their allowance. That could perhaps be a possibly worth potentially considering in the not too distant future. Like when he graduates. And moves away from everyone. And has nothing to do with them on a daily basis.  

Ushering Jensen away from the kitchen and towards the living room, Grams launches into a series of twenty questions. She parks Jensen on the couch and takes her place in her armchair. Jared watches, astonished, and in awe.

“What brings you this way, Jensen?” 

“A change of scenery, ma’am.”

“Do you have family in town?”

“Just my Pops.”

“In town or here?”

“Here. Jared helped me move him in.”

“I wonder if I’ve met him already.”

“It’s possible, but he’s one to keep to himself. That’s just his way.”

“Which is obviously not your way.”

“No,” Jensen replies with a small smile. “I take after my momma.”

Grams nods and returns the smile. “Are you by yourself, then?” 

“Not completely. Luke looks after me, makes sure I don’t get in way over my head with the ranch. And I’ve got Martha.” 

“Your girlfriend?”

“Chicken.”

“Uh huh.”

Jared chimes in, at Martha’s defense. “She’s a really smart chicken, Grams.” 

“I’m no stranger to chickens,” she comments, “but if you ever want people for company, swing by here with Jared. These old hens will always welcome handsome young men into their bridge games.” She turns to Jared. “Now, I bet you thought I wasn’t going to notice what time you’re here. Did you go to school today?”

Dammit. Jared moves towards the kitchen, slowly, hoping her sight has suddenly become based on movement and he can disappear if he stays still enough. “Yep. Then Jensen gave me a ride here in his truck.”

It takes every ounce of please-lie-to-my-grandmother-with-me power Jared possess as a teenager to wordlessly communicate to Jensen the appropriate way to respond. 

“He did indeed hop a ride in my truck,” Jensen states, shooting Jared a private look. “Made him buckle up and everything.” It’s not a lie, but it’s enough of the truth to satisfy Grams.

Besides, there’s the issue of her kitchen sink. 

“Did you put in a maintenance order?” Jared slips into the kitchen and wades through the water to face the sink. “Did anyone actually come out?”

Grams and Jensen take half a minute to join Jared, which makes him nervous. Adults talking amongst themselves around him always sets him on edge--the subject of their conversation is typically how to either punish Jared or put him to work on a chore he hates or how to break unpleasant news to him. Grams tries her best to avoid bullshit, but she’s still an adult capable of telling Jared what to do. And if he’s honest with himself, he’d do whatever she said because she’s his Grams. He just doesn’t want their relationship to be that way. Ever.

Hands on her hips, Grams sighs at the sight of water. “I called and called until I was practically the president of the phone company. Betty stopped by and said she’d send Tom out, but you know how he is. Poor guy winds his butt and scratches his watch.”

“Tom was a plumber,” Jared explains to Jensen, who has joined the flood. Jared peers down the kitchen drain. “For like, thirty years.”

“That so,” Jensen murmurs, rubbing his chin. “Well, I’m no thirty year plumber, but I can take a look.”

“No, I couldn’t intrude on what y’all had planned,” Grams shoots back. She picks up her mop again. “I don’t know much about sinks, but I know this ain’t no five minute fix. So go, shoo. I can swing this pretty hard.”

Jensen laughs and holds his hands up. “Look, I’ll level with you. It’d help me out if I brought someone over to spend a little time with other folks. That way, I can fix your sink and you’d be doing me a favor. How’s that?” 

Jared likes the way Jensen thinks.

And the way that shirt looks on him.

And the way he talks to Grams. 

And a lot of other things about Jensen he hasn’t thought about before. Oh god, but does Jensen know? Is Jared slobbering all over him? Is he being clingy? Needy? Annoying? Juvenile? Pathetic? How does he gain respect from an adult when he’s got nothing to offer? How can he force the squeeze in his chest to think things through and be completely logical about this situation? 

“I suppose when you put it that way,” Grams replies and relinquishes control of the mop. 

“You’ll have to join us to go get him. He’s not a fan of Jared’s and he can be pretty stubborn even if I ask. But he’s never cross with a lady.”

“Who could not be a fan of my grandson?” 

“He thought I was stealing Jensen’s truck,” Jared grumbles. “Which I wasn’t!” 

Grams smooths out her pale blue dress. “Hmm. I know the type. Well, let’s go then. Sooner we get this mess out of the way, the sooner we can all have dinner.”

Dinner? With their grandparents? 

Maybe he should have stayed with Baby Rose.


	18. Chapter 18

Charles’ opinion of Jared has not changed since their fateful first meeting.

“Is he stealing again?” Charles points at Jared two seconds after walking into the apartment. “Jensen, is he trying to steal your truck again?” 

Jared shoves down the instinct to desperately defend himself because of the expression on Jensen’s face--a mixture of shock, embarrassment, and something else Jared can’t pinpoint. 

“Pop, Jared is not stealing anything,” Jensen laughs and gently pats Charles’ shoulder so he no longer points. “Pop. I brought Jared and a very lovely lady. You wanna say hi?” 

The family resemblance between Jensen and Charles are striking. Same square jaw, same nose, same green eyes. Jared wonders what Jensen’s father looks like, which makes him wonder what his own father looks like now. He has no direct reference for what he’ll look like as he ages. People say he takes after his mom, but the older he gets, the more their resemblance erodes. Grams insists he looks like Gramps. But Gramps isn’t here to compare himself against. 

“No,” Charles states, firmly set against any company. 

Jensen’s smile falls. He hadn’t expected that reaction.

Charles and Grams have almost the same amount of square footage for their apartments. And the layout is just about identical. Jared has seen all the different layouts offered at Shady Pines at some point or another while visiting or dropping by. Mr. Trobe has dedicated his space to pictures of his cats--all sixteen of them. His daughter takes care of them now, but every so often she’ll bring over another picture and Jared will hang it up for him. Every resident adds something to their apartment. 

While Jensen did bring over paintings of deserts and ranches, exactly none have been hung up. The paintings lean against a wall, painted side of the canvas hidden. 

Not much has changed since Jared helped Jensen move the furniture in. 

It hardly looks like anyone lives here at all. 

Maybe that’s how Charles prefers to live--with the bare bones basics. Maybe that’s how he’s lived his whole life and it’s too late to change now. Maybe he just hasn’t gotten around to settling in. Maybe he hates Shady Pines and he’s fixing to leave.

But damn.

Is this depressing.

Grams swings into action. She holds her arms out, friendly and casual, then extends a handshake to Charles. “Why, what a handsome man you’ve been hiding away, Jensen! Howdy, I’m Mona. I understand you’ve just moved here.”

“No. No, that’s not right. I’ve been here twenty-five years.”

“Oh, it feels like that from time to time. I haven’t seen you at supper. The ladies and I would love to get to know you. Do you play cards?” Grams keeps her voice upbeat and light, sweet like she takes her tea. “I have folks I wanna introduce you to at the dining hall. Would you care to join us?” 

“I’m married.”

Jensen coughs and looks down at the floor. 

With a laugh, Grams directs Charles towards the door. “Damn, all the good ones are taken. I promise we’ll behave ourselves.” She motions for Jensen and Jared to follow. “Now, before we get to the dining hall, I just need to stop by my place. What do you do for work, Charles?”

“I own horses.”

“No kidding! I worked on a ranch when I was a girl. Lots of people here have. Now, let me tell you--you live in a good part of town here. It’s not drafty like my neck of the woods. How do you like your living quarters?”

“Good as any.”

“You’re fond of your grandson, aren’t you?”

Charles looks back over his shoulder and spots Jensen. “That’s him. That’s Jensen.”

“Hi Pop. Who’s your friend?” 

“This is Mona.”

“That’s great. Let’s take a walk with Mona.”

It isn’t until the four of them stand in the hallway that Jared notices Charles’ shirt is on inside out. There’s not enough money in the world for him to say it directly to Charles. Jared hangs back a few steps. Jensen follows suit until they’re out of earshot. 

“His shirt,” Jared starts to say.

Jensen looks over. He had to have noticed everything Jared did. Even more so, probably. No--definitely more so definitely.

“Looks nice,” Jared finishes. “Kinda like yours.”

The three of them follow Grams, allowing themselves to be taken in by her charm and ease. There’s no need to tell Jensen that Charles’ shirt is inside out. 

It’s not that obvious anyway. 


	19. Chapter 19

Jensen shows Jared the difference between a toilet plunger and a sink plunger.

There is no need for Jared to go to school ever again. He’s done. He’s good. This is all he needs to know. Jensen rolls up his sleeves, holds the plunger firm and steady, and licks his lips in effort. Pumping up and down on the plunger--rapidly, several times in succession--the muscles in Jensen’s arms flex. The sleeves of his shirt look tighter and tighter the more Jensen plunges. When he pauses to reposition the plunger, he wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, then looks over at Jared and smiles. 

Perfectly plump lips prepare to speak. Jared holds his breath.

“Grab me a bucket?” 

Sigh. 

Not what he wanted, but probably just as well. Jared can get a bucket like no one else. He dashes out of the kitchen and into the living room, where Grams has held Charles hostage. She shows him pictures out on display and a few from an album. With obvious pride, she goes on about one particular picture in a silver frame--the only photo in existence of herself, Gramps, Jared’s parents, and Jared. 

For a brief moment in time, Jared had a family without fractures, untouched by abandonment, death, or distance. He was swaddled up, asleep, and in his mother’s arms. It seems impossible. He wouldn’t believe it if black and white proof didn’t stare back at him.

Charles doesn’t say much. Then again, Grams doesn’t need him to. It’s enough for him to nod and look and there are no shortage of photos. She details the life and tragedy of her Great Aunt Tilly, who took it upon herself to fall in love with six different alphas and one omega. Or cousin Clifton, who hadn’t been born with common sense and sold off his twenty acres of good land to head up North and shut himself in a cabin, hidden from the rest of the world. Why on earth anyone would subject themselves to winters up north, Grams doesn’t know. Same thing with her third cousin Teresa, who moved out to the desert to live in a house of mud and clay. 

“It depends on the day,” Grams sighs and smiles. “But sometimes I think I got the better deal. Unless they serve boiled fish in the slop hall. Then I for sure know I’d be better off living in a mud house.”

Jared slips past and retrieves the requested bucket from the bathroom closet. 

In the doorway of the kitchen, he pauses, staring into the bucket like a fountain of natural beauty. 

He feels like a small town--out of the way, left behind, and in between. Always here or there but never  _ here _ or  _ there.  _

One look at Jensen and he feels like a big city.

Exciting, challenging, and  _ here _ . 

Just when he gathers up confidence, Jensen brandishes one of the worst weapons of all time: a big, big smile that highlights the crinkles around his eyes, perfect teeth, and strong jaw. Grams said he’s not supposed to think about marrying alphas at this age, just fool around with them some. 

She probably didn’t mean this particular alpha, this ten years older, and incredibly off limits.

“C’mere,” Jensen murmurs, nodding towards the sink. “Let me show you how to do this.”

Some terrible, awful, traitorous thing flutters in Jared’s chest.

Standing next to Jensen, he realizes it’s his heart.


	20. Chapter 20

Jensen finishes fixing the sink in record time. Early enough to make dinner in the cafeteria. 

However, Grams doesn’t allow it, not for two damn seconds. She insists--demands--that Jared and Jensen hightail it out of Shady Pines before she kicks their asses. It’s no place for two young people to have dinner. Jared tries to remind her that he’s had dinner at the cafeteria at least once or twice before; she quips at him to respect his elders and get the hell out. 

“Charles and I have some mingling to do,” Grams states, leaving not a single inch of room for question. “Go on. I’ll return your grandfather to his room right after we’re done causing some trouble. Isn’t that right, Charles?”

In a better mood than when they picked him up, Charles nods. He looks at Grams and pulls her towards the door. “Let’s go, Em. We’ll be late.” 

“Alright, hold your horses, let me give these two hugs.” Grams pulls Jared in tight and whispers, “Enjoy yourself. I love you. Swing by tomorrow.” She pulls Jensen in tight and whispers, “Don’t you worry about us. Thank you for the help.” 

She smooths out her dress and fixes Charles’ collar. 

“Em, let’s go already.”

“Go? We’re going, we’re going. Say goodbye to the boys.”

“Isn’t that the one who…”

“Jared and Jensen are going out and so are we. Did I ever tell you about my cousin Russell? His is a story of tragedy and misery. No other individual in the world has ever suffered as much as he has. It all started with the death of his beloved houseplant…” 

Charles and Grams walk down one end of the hallway. 

Both somewhat confused, Jared and Jensen walk down the other end of the hallway. 

Their shoes crunch on the accumulated gravel in the parking lot. Jared understands that most alphas take pride in their cars or trucks. Or maybe that only applies to the alphas he’s seen in town. That’s pretty much all they have to do, anyway, work on their trucks. He can appreciate the need for transportation, but doesn’t comprehend the obsession. 

Should he pose against Jensen’s truck for a quick moment? 

Lean against the hood a little? 

Suggestively open the door? Seductively put his hand over Jensen’s on the wheel?

“Jared?” 

Already climbing into the truck, Jared bangs his forehead against the door frame. 

“Fuck--I mean, god dammit.” 

“Holy shit, are you okay?” 

“Oh, yeah, what’s a little trauma to the head?” Jared sits his ass down in the passenger’s seat and rubs his forehead. Thousands of missed opportunities die at his feet. Jared expects Jensen to start the truck, maybe laugh a little, and drive them out. Because that’s what always happens. Something happens to Jared and the people around him--and himself--gloss over it. 

What is it with this self-loathing? Could this be part of growing up? Will it go away?

Jared figures it probably won’t. He just isn’t that lucky.

Jensen does laugh. 

But he doesn’t start up the truck right away. Instead, he leans over, his sleeves still rolled up. A somewhat shy smile peeks out, different from the megawatt smile at the sink. 

Slowly, Jensen reaches over and brushes a stray piece of hair away from Jared’s forehead. 

He looks over the potential trauma to Jared’s head and gently nudges Jared’s chin. When their eyes meet, that flutter in Jared’s chest becomes a fleet of truck engines revving. 

“You look good,” Jensen murmurs. 

Pure sunshine and happiness turns away and starts up the truck. 

No big deal. 

Jared’s heart explodes at the dire impossibility of his situation. 


	21. Chapter 21

Fences add much-needed discipline to extensive properties. 

Without a fence, the property seems exposed and vulnerable. Jensen has plans to add a few shrubs here and there, but that’s a long way off. They haven’t finished digging the post holes--the most fundamental part. While the size of the project seems daunting to Jared, Jensen and Luke don’t seem concerned about it. 

Luke spends an hour marking more spots on the ground for post holes. He uses yellow spray paint and works so far ahead of Jensen and Jared that he looks like one of the plastic Army men the boys spend hours torturing in the backyard. Jared’s mother stepped on one this morning and lost it with them. Before she could focus her wrath on Jared and get into more detail about why he arrived home after dark last night, Jared snuck into Luke’s truck. His plan was to act as a stowaway and surprise Luke at the last second. 

Unfortunately, Jared wasn’t as stealthy as he pictured himself. 

For a minute, Luke did his part and lectured Jared about missing school to work, but he dropped it after Jared informed him that together last night, Jared and Jensen were caught up with the post holes. 

While Luke finishes marking more, Jared helps Jensen inside the house. 

They worked late. Once the sun disappeared from the horizon, Jensen hauled out a few lanterns and lamps. Their work might have been faster had they not encountered old, gnarly roots or stubborn rocks. 

Jared would have put up with a dozen boulders and the roots of willow trees just to hear Jensen tell him, at the end of the night, “You did good work tonight.” 

He carried those words with him to bed last night. 

And looks forward to hearing them again, despite his exhaustion. 

Martha clucks after them both in the house. Jared waits in the kitchen while Jensen rustles up the plans for the house. Helping himself to a biscuit on the table, Jared shares tiny pieces with Martha. Despite his generosity, she quickly catches onto Jared’s mood and pecks at his elbow. 

“I know,” he sighs and pats her head. “I know I’m being this love-sick puppy gushing all over someone ten whole years older than me. But Gramps was almost ten years older than Grams when they met. How is that different from this?” 

In between pecking and preening, Martha looks up at Jared and blinks. 

“Times were different back then,” Jared grumbles. He takes an absurdly large bite out of a biscuit and talks with his mouth open, much like his stepbrothers do on a regular basis. Crumbs spew, much to Martha’s delight. “Power dynamics and consent and I’m probably just reading into things, like one hundred and ten percent reading into things, but I…” 

No amount of overthinking obliterates the squeeze in his chest that occurs whenever Jensen looks at him and flashes a smile. 

Is that how everyone feels after receiving a smile from Jensen? Should he conduct interviews? It can’t be just him. This has to be a Jensen Ackles’ Smile Phenomenon. But then again, anyone who feels that same way after a smile from Jensen is competition. 

“This is biological,” Jared declares to Martha. He shakes a biscuit at her to emphasize his intellectually sound points. “I mean, this is just evolution. Older men display how strong their genes are. That’s science. I can’t go against science.”

Martha doesn’t buy it.

She pecks Jared’s hand and steals the last nibble of biscuit. 

“That’s the last time I spill my guts to you.” 

Jensen walks in, carrying piles of papers and blueprints. He peers above the stacks. “Were you and Martha having some talk therapy?” 

“I was trying,” Jared mutters and glares at Martha, who has decided to sit on the kitchen table. “She wasn’t very helpful.”

“You can’t get advice from a chicken,” Jensen laughs. He shoos Martha aside to set down papers. “You gotta talk to a horse for advice.” 

“Plus one strange things Jensen has said to me.”

“Shit, you’re keeping track?”

“I’m a teenager, it’s what I do around adults.” Inside his head, Jared screams: don’t agree with me. Don’t agree with me. Don’t see me as a teenager, some kid, some insignificant adolescent without an original or developed thought. 

Fanning out papers, something catches Jensen’s attention and distracts him. He neither accepts or rejects Jared’s psychic commands. 

Strong hands point to various parts of a detailed blueprint. 

“Look at this. There are a million places to start and I can’t figure out which one.” Martha pecks at the blueprint. “The good thing about this house is that it’s got a great foundation. But we’ve still got woodwork, fireplaces, floorboards, plumbing, windows… The fence is easy. I mean, it’s gonna take time, but that’s why we started there.” 

Jared stands as close to Jensen as he dares. “Wherever you start,” he notes, “you gotta take all the furniture out and put it in storage. That’s what we did when we painted last summer.” Details of last summer are not to be discussed in Jared’s house. It was awful. Beyond awful. Everyone was still getting used to each other and whenever it rained, they had to run outside and cover furniture with tarps. It was all paint fumes, blazing sun, and surprise two in the morning thunderstorms. 

Jensen nods, still reading through the blueprint and a few other official-looking papers with a smattering of measurements on them. “True. That’s a good point. Maybe I should clear out everything, move it into the barn. Then get a good inspector.”

“That’s Kirk,” Jared mumbles. “I go to school with his son.”

“Oh, so we’ve got a connection?”

“Hardly. His son plays football. I…” Jared pauses to wonder what it is he really goes. He plays a mean game of bridge. “Don’t.” 

“Just wait,” Jensen says with a sigh. “One of these days you’ll shoot up and probably be taller than me. Then I can hire you to paint.”

“I like the height I’m at.” Just an inch short of Jensen’s shoulders. “And I hate painting. It’s so slow. And you’re stuck inside with the fumes. Martha can paint.” He picks up one of the papers and reads through. “This seems kinda important.”

Just when Jared feels like he’s got a handle of the situation, Jensen obliterates it. He props his chin on Jared’s shoulder and reads through the paper--like this is no. big. deal. Like it’s not causing Jared to implode, crumble, and wither away into nothingness. Like Jared didn’t need his heart, mind, or sanity. 

Jensen’s cruelty knows no bounds. He has to read aloud, the rumble of his voice close to Jared’s ear. “Check for water damage in the sill plate. The hell is that? Oh, wait--the sill plate is the bottommost horizontal component of the structure that runs around the entire foundation. All of the vertical supports for the house are attached to the sill plate. If the sill plate is rotten, then it can cause major problems down the line.” Jensen pats Jared’s shoulder and stands back up. He searches through more paperwork. “ Did I have the sill plate checked?” 

About to cry, Jared murmurs a soft, “I don’t know.” 

“I mean, that’s part of a good foundation, yeah?”

“...sure.”

“I have all these papers about double-mahogany glazed windows and marble mantles but where’s the foundation stuff? Martha, quit it. Shoo.” 

“Jensen?”

Unlike other adults, Jensen actually looks up from what he’s doing. “Yeah?”

“What is it… that you do?” There were at least ten thousand more interesting or eloquent ways to ask this question and Jared ignored them all. “I mean, you know, what’s your job?” Even with a second stab at it, he still fails. 

What makes this failure worse, glaringly worse, is Jensen’s smile right after--all ease and amusement. “Nothing as great as being here with y’all.” 

Jared struggles against two urges--to smack Jensen and melt in his arms. He chooses a dark horse option: blushing and stammering and avoiding eye contact. 

Jensen sits down at the table and holds a biscuit in his hand. He looks at the biscuit, as if including it in their conversation. “My family owns ranches, mainly out in the Dallas area. We’ve got a main ranch. Some six hundred acres of land--called The Angelonia.” He breaks the biscuit in half and, unlike Jared, takes sensible bites. Crumbs do not spew out of Jensen’s mouth as he talks and eats. “My parents, sister, and brother don’t really spend a whole ton of time on the ranch. They all do the books, inventory, management, you know, that boring paperwork stuff.” 

He motions to the pile of papers on the kitchen table. “I’d try and get out there three times a week. Help out the folks with the animals, do the groundwork. We acquired a new property, but instead of run it, my dad wanted my sister and I to manage it from the Dallas office. You ever been to Dallas?”

“I’ve never been anywhere,” Jared admits. “Just here.”

“Dallas is like… if you went to a city and thought, ‘How could I suck the fun out of this place?’ That’s Dallas.”

“I thought that was here.”

“No, no, trust me. It’s Dallas. And everyone wears these really obnoxious cowboy boots without a streak of mud on them. A damn shame.” Jensen finishes his biscuit and swipes off crumbs from the table, gathering them in the palm of his right hand. He feeds them to Martha, unafraid of her pecks. “So, I called up Luke and complained. I was tired of the city folks and my parents were tired of me. They gave my sister the ranch and cut me a share so I’d shut up and do something already. Luke mentioned this place was for sale and my father has questioned my sanity ever since I signed the deed.”

Martha squawks and flutters off, feathers floating behind in her wake. 

Jensen looks at the paperwork in front of him, frustrated by the sight of it, and issues another smile like he’s hell-bent on handing out heart attacks. “Don’t ever tell my old man, but sometimes, I question my sense too. I’m sharing a house with a chicken. I don’t know what that says about me.” 

Luke walks in through the back door. Without a word, Jared understands the expression on his face. It’s the one given right before breaking the news that he won’t be home for dinner, that they can’t afford to go to the lake this month, or, the news he discusses with Jared’s mother when they think everyone else is asleep--they need to seriously rethink their financial situation. 

“I’ve got another job,” he says, even, but apologetic. “It’s quick though, just a patch up job for the ice cream parlor. Won’t take me longer than a few hours.”

Standing up, Jensen claps Luke on the back. “Go on, get to it. Think of all that ice cream melting. The world needs you.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Did you mark up some holes to dig?”

“Yeah, you two work well.”

“Then Jared and I will handle that while you pick me up a carton of rocky road.” Jensen hands Luke a dollar. “Unless you need Jared to go with you?”

Predictably, Luke refuses the dollar and Jensen refuses to have it refused.

“No, Jared’s handy here. This is a quick job. I’ll be back right quick.”

For a terrifying moment, Jared thought Luke said he was pretty handsy here. 

With his tools and in his truck, Luke leaves. He waves to them at the end of the drive. Before heading back out to the fence, Jensen pours himself and Jared tall glasses of cold lemonade. He fills a small porcelain bowl with water and sets it down for Martha, whenever she decides to grace the kitchen with her presence again. 

Jensen grabs the last biscuit on the table.

He splits it in half and hands the bigger piece to Jared. 

Jared knows exactly what that gesture says about Jensen. 

The rest doesn’t seem as important.


	22. Chapter 22

Every time the ice cream parlor in town gets a new shipment of product, Mikey and his dad will ask Jared to help unload the truck and rotate the freezer. 

For three hours, Jared would roll out drums of ice cream solid as rocks and just as heavy. At two dollars an hour, it was good money for an afternoon of labor. 

Digging post holes is kind of like unloading ice cream from a truck. It’s hard work, takes what feels like forever, and leaves Jared with noodle arms. 

Maybe he wouldn’t feel so sore if he eased up and took a few breathers, but working alongside alphas spurs him to work twice as hard and three times as fast. He can’t have them thinking he’s some puny, pathetic omega with no sense of a day’s work. And he’s happy for the exercise, plus the opportunity to be outside using skills other than cleaning up after his stepbrothers or changing Baby Rose’s diapers. 

Although Luke left behind marks for the post holes, creating the holes requires more than just the use of a post hole digger. The whole process takes a toll on Jared’s hands, arms, and knees. Accuracy counts as much as speed; if they mess up along the way, the structure of the fence will suffer. For each hole, he has to kneel down and carve out a divot with a spade, then loosen the earth with a tile shovel. He starts at the center of each X Luke left spray painted on the grass. If the soil gives way easily, he can then use the clamshell digger. Roots or rocks slow them down and demand way more work. 

Back and forth, Jensen and Jared share tools and canteens filled with cold water. 

It’s difficult to talk and work, given how much they sweat, so they rely on whistles or eye contact as signals. 

Soon enough, they develop a wordless rhythm of work. 

The occasional breeze provides a few seconds of relief. Jared grumbles to himself at the sight of roots, but enjoys knocking rocks out of the way with a steel digging bar. With each finished hole--he measures three times to make sure he’s got Luke’s instructions right--he packs the bottom of the hole to compress any loose soil.

Kneeling. Holes. Packing. Plunging. 

Each terribly wonderful glance at Jensen’s biceps flexing, or his strong, firm hands grasping the clamshell digger, or how his tongue peeks out whenever he plunges the blades down into soil. 

“Jared?”

Jared flinches and drops the digging bar. “What? Yes? What? You need something?” Anything, anything was the better word. Anything at all.

Jensen laughs and shakes his head. “No. You just stopped working. I thought something was wrong. You feelin’ okay?” 

The truth is something like, “NO. I am NOT okay. How can anyone EVER be okay when you look like THAT?! Do you OWN a mirror? Do you REALIZE? If you look like that vertical, what do you look like horizontal?!” 

The answer is, “I’m good.” Jared picks up the digging bar and scurries over to a new X. “I’m good, just good.” 

Heat rises in Jared’s face as he starts a new post hole. He becomes the world’s most productive post hole digger to avoid further embarrassment. 

Grams is right. He should be feeling this way over one of his classmates. Any one of them would do. His fixation and curiosity wouldn’t be so out of place, so wildly inappropriate, or so horrifically unattainable. If only he could force his emotions down like soil and pack them away to deal with later. But despite his best efforts, his eyes wander back to Jensen and his heart renews its accelerated beat from before. 

By the time Luke returns, Jared suffers three would-be heart attacks. 

Jensen and Jared stop their work to get instructions from Luke. They’ve dug two thirds of the marks he left. Jared notices a small stain on Luke’s shirt that looks oddly like Baby Rose spit up. Did he stop by the house before swinging back? 

“You look like you could use a break,” Luke says to Jared, patting him on the shoulder. “Why don’t you drive the truck back to the main house and take a breather.”

“We’re almost done,” Jared points out. “I can finish the rest.” 

Luke tips his hat back. “I know. You did a fine job. But your mother will kill me if I bring you home dead tired.”

“Help yourself to anything in the fridge.” Jensen takes off his gloves for the time being. “I’ve got turkey sandwiches made up. Just don’t tell Martha.” 

Being sent back to the house like a child--like an omega child--spurs a different kind of heat to rise in Jared’s face. The urge to throw down his clamshell digger and storm off in a huff grows ten fold after Jensen hops on the go take a rest bandwagon. If they want alone time as alphas or as friends or adults or whatever, why can’t they just say so? 

That stain on Luke’s shirt is definitely spit up. He also forgot to take the spit up towel out of his front pocket. Throwing a tantrum suddenly doesn’t seem effective or helpful for anyone. Jared hands Luke the clamshell digger and takes the keys. 

Excitement doesn’t resonate through him as he climbs into the truck and drives back to the main house. He looks in the rear view mirror and sighs at the sight of Luke and Jensen getting back to work. 

Martha greets him in the kitchen with a few inquisitive clucks. She pecks at his sneakers, but otherwise allows him to forage through the fridge. Since Jensen offered, Jared might as well help himself. He doesn’t tell Martha about what’s inside his sandwich, but he does share a few carrots and small pieces of bread. Sitting down at the table feels good for the first ten minutes and he might even kind of sort of be grateful for the break. 

Adrenaline, however, keeps him restless. 

Sitting with his chin propped up and elbow on the table, he looks around the kitchen and then at Martha. 

“Not much of a house, huh, Martha?”

In obvious agreement, she tilts her head, blinks, and clucks. 

“You think he’d be upset if I tidied up the place?”

His companion preens and cleans her feathers. 

“This is a serious case of what the ladies at Shady Pines would call: in need of an omega’s touch.” 

Martha chases after a spider that skitters across the kitchen floor and into the living room. Jared takes that as a sign to get to work. Spiders and dust wait for no chicken or omega.

There are some people--like his mother--who might still label Jared as a loner. They’d be half right at this point in his life. He still doesn’t seek out the company of anyone his age, but he does talk to Martha. From room to room in the house, she listens and follows after him. Any creepy crawly that runs from Jared’s broom eventually meets Martha’s beak and a quick demise. He shares with her some of the weirder things he’s caught his stepbrothers doing, like making mud pies and hurling them at trees or shooting pebbles at tin cans propped up on the picnic table out back. 

He tells her how quiet his life used to be before his mother met Luke. 

It seems like his mother got tired of all that quiet. Jared is sure that he shouldn’t blame her, she’s young and entitled to romantic happiness. He just wishes she would let him pitch a tent out in the backyard so he could have a space of his own again.

Cobwebs and dust bunnies don’t stand a chance against Jared. 

Even though it seems like a trespass of privacy, Jared sweeps Jensen’s room, quick and without looking at anything. Well, much of anything. He takes in small details; Jensen makes his bed every morning, he owns more shoes than boots, and he’s kept a family picture on his dresser. His parents look like important people. 

And that’s it. 

Those are all the personal items. Even the quilt on his bed is a plain blue one, and Jared has hung out with the ladies at Shady Pines long enough to know that it’s store bought, not handmade. 

Jared gets out of there quick, paranoid about being caught and accused of snooping around. That’s not a false accusation, unlike the truck, because he is snooping. But at least he’s cleaning while doing it. Besides, Martha is with him and she wouldn’t let him get away with anything too terrible. 

Before Luke and the boys moved in, Jared and his mother spent a week deep cleaning their home. That was a sad kind of cleaning. Jared was giving up all the rooms in their home that had once been free and accessible to him one hundred percent of the time, including his mother’s. It’s not like the home Gramps provided them with was a mansion, but it had always been Jared’s space. He didn’t have to share anything or anyone. 

“I don’t remember the last time I got mom all to myself,” he confides to Martha, scrubbing down the living room floor with a scrub brush. He dunks the brush back into the bucket of warm water and soap, then wipes his forehead. Martha tilts her head and squacks. 

“I know.” The floor looks better already. “I’m being ridiculous. I probably wouldn’t even know what to say to mom now anyway.” 

They used to read books together and talk about them. It was their own private book club. And every night at seven, she’d turn on the radio and they’d listen to one of three of their regular programs. Grams and his mother used to talk more back then--in person and not over the phone. 

Jared briefly wonders when was the last time his mother got any time alone to herself. Or Luke, for that matter. 

“I’m gonna own a house like this one day.” Martha preens away, occupied. Jared keeps scrubbing. “And I’ll be the only one in it. I’ll invite people over.” Like handsome, rugged, muscled alphas with green eyes, freckles, and strong hands. “But no one is hounding in on my territory. Except you.” 

Martha looks up and Jared laughs. “You can come and go as you please. I wouldn’t mind that.” 

A few hours pass by without much notice. Jared keeps busy with the basics of tidying up. Martha disappears from time to time--she does her personal business outside--but she usually shows up again at Jared’s feet to see what all he’s doing. Luke must have taken a cooler out to the site with him, because neither him nor Jensen come back to the main house for food or drink. Jared helps himself to more lemonade and a few more sandwiches. 

The main house isn’t much. Hell, it could really use more than just some soap water and a scrub brush. It might look okay if some of that awful wallpaper were torn out and covered with fresh paint instead. There are a few older pieces of furniture that Jared examines. They’d be salvageable if given the right attention and time. Mr. Julius at Shady Pines knows how to restore furniture. He might have to take frequent breaks to do it, but Jared bets he’d like the challenge. Unless it was bingo night. Nothing trumps bingo night.

There isn’t much in way of any decoration or cheerful details to add. Jared tries to add a few more personal touches here and there throughout the house. He finds an old tin coffee pot under the kitchen sink--perfectly serviceable once Martha eats the spiders that crawl out of it. 

He shines it up and places in it a few flowers that were growing wild by the back porch. 

In one of the closets, he discovers an old boot, just the left one, and does the same thing--shines it up and sticks flowers inside. This he places by the stairs. There are enough flowers to fill the next few random objects he picks up from different parts of the house: two mason jars, another left boot, a slightly chipped glass pitcher, and an old milk bottle. He scoots out any insects and allows natural selection to determine which ones escape Martha and which ones make it to the back porch. 

In the living room, he takes off his shirt, ties it around his nose and mouth, and drags out all the pillows and cushions from each of the two large couches. He beats the dust out of them on the back porch with a broom and random baseball bat. Martha stays far away for that mess. 

Back inside, he opens all the windows and airs each room out. No telling how much dust he inhaled today, but the entire house smells clean. He ties bunches of wild lavender together and hangs one or two above each doorway. Grams taught him that one. 

The last place to clean is the pantry off the kitchen. 

It’s bigger than the pantry/room at his house. As far as pantries go, this may as well be a boutique hotel with chocolates on the pillows. Or one of the suites at Shady Pines, the ones with French doors and sinks that don’t back up. 

Not much is in the pantry, aside from a large bag of flour Jensen must have bought recently and a bag of seed. Martha pecks at Jared’s legs. He takes the hint and gives her a scoop, kneeling down for a brief moment so she can eat from his hand instead of getting it all over the floor.

Exhaustion finally sets in. 

He falls asleep in the pantry, curled up in between the bag of flour and chicken seed. 


	23. Chapter 23

“My god, Luke, he cleaned.”

“Did you ask him to?”

“No! He’s workin’ hard enough out there. Holy shit, I can see myself in the floor.”

“He’s a good kid.”

“Better kid than I was at that age. It even smells clean in here.”

“Jensen.”

“Huh?”

“Have dinner with us tomorrow night.”

“...this your idea or Kate’s?”

“It don’t matter.”

“Ah, man, you know it does.”

“You’re paying for this job, the least I can do is have you over for dinner.”

“Luke--you don’t have to. I’m fine cookin’ dinner here. My meatloaf is stellar.”

“You wanna keep living in this house all by yourself?”

“Martha keeps me company.”

“How much longer you gonna jump from place to place.”

“Hey, what’s with the assessment of my life?”

“I just… I think you need someone.”

“So  _ that’s  _ it. You think I ‘need someone.’” 

“That’s not… forget it. Forget I said anything.”

“Just because it didn’t work out between you and me, you think I’m lonely? I’m not. I’m just alone. And there’s a big difference. You know I need my space.”

“Fine.”

“Great. Fine.” Jensen’s footsteps ease away from the pantry, towards the living room. “I think he cleaned the whole house. Look--there’s even flowers in here.”

“Jared?” Luke calls out, still in the kitchen. 

Jared stays as quiet and as still as possible. Adults never let him hear their conversations. They never tell him about the inner workings of their lives or perspectives on the world. Most of the time they just tell him to mind his manners and calm down.  

Unfortunately, Martha betrays him.

She flutters out of Jared’s lap and skids into the kitchen. 

To maintain his innocence, Jared pretends to just now wake up when Luke steps into the pantry. He rubs his eyes and blinks up at the alpha. 

“I found him,” Luke calls out to Jensen. He extends a hand to Jared and helps him up. “You’re sure to be sore tomorrow with all this work.”

“Hey,” Jensen cuts in. He pats Jared on the shoulder. “That’s no way to thank him. Jared, you performed a miracle. I didn’t think this place could ever look this nice.” Cue deadly, addictive, winning smile with eye crinkles and freckles. “You’re one of a kind in my book.”

One of a kind. Jared’s heart pounds with both pride and anxiety. Had Luke and Jensen really been a couple? Why hadn’t it worked out? His mother’s attitude towards Jensen makes more sense now. But why wouldn’t she share that with Jared? They never had many secrets between them before. He had always been her confidant, ever since he was small. 

It’s only been with in the past year or two that adults--including his mother--have shut him out of anything important. 

“Tell y’all what,” Jensen announces. The three of them step into the kitchen. “I was gonna make meatloaf, but I think we’ve earned burgers tonight.”

Hands up, Luke shakes his head. “That’s mighty nice of you, but I gotta get this one home. It’s close to dark.”

“I’d like a burger,” Jared speaks up. He glances over at Luke, apologetic, but determined. “I mean… they don’t take long to cook. And if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all. Let’s eat outside. I can put together a fire pit right quick if you’ll grab the stuff out of the fridge.” 

Jensen and Jared move faster than Luke can protest. 

In the time it takes for Jared to wrestle up the necessary ingredients, pan, and utensils, Jensen has already formed a fire pit. Luke gives in and helps Jared carry things outside. He shows Jared where to put everything and Jensen shows them both how to light the pit. 

“How many times,” Luke laughs, “did you have to practice that before you didn’t lose your eyebrows?”

“Oh, har har,” Jensen scoffs. “I’ll have you know I only lost the one eyebrow that one time. You can hardly tell. Right?” He elbows Jared. 

“Hardly,” Jared squeaks. Good lord, where has his voice gone? At least a million snappy responses bubble in his chest and throat but none of them make an appearance. 

What is it about a fire at sunset, cool shadows and warm light that highlight the sparks in green eyes, the contours of denim and flannel, and blond streaks in tawny hair? 

Luke and Jensen handle the cooking, bantering, but somehow still include Jared. 

And despite the information he learned today, Jared doesn’t feel a hint of awkwardness between the two alphas. The burgers sizzle and fry up. Luke passes a cold bottle of beer to Jensen and keeps one for himself. He hands Jared a root beer and notices the face Jared makes. 

“Give the poor kid a sip,” Jensen says, nudging Luke’s boot with his own. 

“He’s seventeen,” Luke quips at Jensen. 

“I had my first sip when I was twelve.”

“And look how you turned out!”

“Right, so ain’t no harm in a sip!”

Luke sighs and looks at Jared. “You don’t tell your mother a word about this. We good on that?”

Eagerly nodding, Jared accepts the bottle passed over. It doesn’t look much different than his root beer bottle. But it does smell weird. So weird that his nose wrinkles. However, there’s no turning back. Both Jensen and Luke look on, curious to see his reaction. Jared places the bottle against his lips and slowly tips back. Don’t gag. Don’t spit it out. Don’t…

“Ughhhh,” Jared groans and shoves the bottle back at Luke. He coughs and sputters, reaching immediately for his root beer. “That’s… disgusting!” 

“Well, if Jensen didn’t buy such cheap ass beer.” Luke takes a swig. He pats Jared’s knee. “You did better than I did when I had my first beer. I puked.”

“And I spit the whole thing out,” Jensen snickers. “And hey--this is the best shit I could get.”

“How can y’all drink that?” Jared grabs a burger and bites into it without mercy. Anything to get that awful taste out of his mouth. 

Jensen takes a long pull of his beer. A damn fine view of his throat occurs. He licks his lips and smiles. “The day you think it tastes good, that’s the day you’re grown up.”

“That’s bull,” Luke grumbles and kicks Jensen. “Don’t give him the wrong idea.”

“Okay, so you answer the question.”

“Don’t follow Jensen’s example on anything,” Luke declares. “He’s just some crazy old cowboy.” 

“Old is for sure,” Jared snips. He leans back on the crate he’s sitting on and allows Jensen to agonize over the comment.  

“Hey,” Jensen laughs. He points his beer at Luke. “You know what this all reminds me of?”

Luke looks at Jared and shakes his head. “Don’t move. He can’t see us if we don’t move.”

“Oh, come on!” Jensen stands up and holds his beer up with his left hand and places his right hand over his heart. He starts to sing, off key, off tempo, but all enthusiasm. “Cowboys ain’t easy to love and they’re harder to hold.”

Jared knows this song. He knows it from Gramps. “They’d rather give you a song than diamonds or gold,” he sings out, unprepared for the grin Jensen gives him in return. 

The sun continues its descent. All the open land around them embraces the darkness, while their fire crackles and illuminates their small patch of yard. They are all warm, full, tired, and brimming with memories. 

He gets to his feet and joins Jensen, who pulls him in and under his arm. 

Together, they sing out, “If you don’t understand him and he don’t die young, he’ll probably just ride away.”

In his seat, Luke shakes his head and hides his smile behind his beer. 

This only makes Jared and Jensen sing louder. “Mamas don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys!” Jensen ruffles Jared’s hair in encouragement. “Don’t let ‘em pick guitars or drive them old trucks--let ‘em be doctors and lawyers and such!”

Luke stands and holds his arms out at his sides in a dramatic flair. “Mamas don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys!” 

Whooping and cheering, Jensen pulls Luke under his other arm. The three of them continue to sing--for better or worse. “They’ll never stay home and they’re always alone, even with someone they love.” 

Jensen takes the next line. “Cowboys like smoky old pool rooms and clear mountain mornin’s.” 

Jared follows. “Little warm puppies and children and girls of the night.”

Luke continues. “Them that don’t know him won’t like him.”

All three of them come back together. “And them that do sometimes won’t know how to take him. He ain’t wrong, he’s just different, but his pride won’t let him do things to make you think he’s right.”

Bottles clink. 

Smoke from the fire fills the air with a peppery, fresh scent. Jensen ruffles Jared’s hair again. 

If Gramps were here, he’d be happy Jared still remembers all the words. 


	24. Chapter 24

If so many things were different.

He might not go home with Luke later that night, crawl into his cramped space with the scent of smoke and alpha in his hair, and wake up the next morning to find that he’s on babysitting duty yet again. 

He might not swallow a bitterness worse than beer. 


	25. Chapter 25

Today is Wednesday--bridge day and meatloaf night.

Grams sneaks food back from the cafeteria--two extra plates she and Mrs. Mwali were able to wrap up without notice. It helps that Mrs. Mwali had her crochet bag with her at dinner. Roy has been on the prowl, expelling visitors left and right for the most minor infractions or offenses. 

Out of scarves and mittens in progress, Jared retrieves his dinner. 

It happens to be the first full meal he’s had in two days. He tries his best to maintain his manners and take sensible bites. Mrs. Mwali and Grams chat while he wolfs down the first plate. Restraint urges him not to lick his plate. This is in no way as good as the food Jensen makes, but it’s warm, relatively fresh, and he doesn’t have to share.

For two days, Jared was unable to swing back to Jensen’s to help with the fence. He was needed at home. Baby Rose had to have a sitter. Andy brought Jared’s schoolwork home, but without the class and with a roaring headache from nonstop teething-related crying, Jared could only stare at it in wondrous frustration. What was the point of even trying to study? If he wasn’t holding or tending to Baby Rose, then he was chasing after Aaron in the backyard trying to get him to take a bath. It wasn’t Jared’s fault that Aaron made himself into dead weight. And it wasn’t his fault that the only solution to his stepbrother’s behavior was to grab the hose and spray him down like one of the dogs. 

The house is a mess. Luke got shorted a paycheck because someone from somewhere in an office was embezzling money. Jared’s mother found herself picking up overtime or cleaning other people’s homes. 

Generally a quiet, calm presence in their house, Luke snapped at Aaron one night and used a tone of voice Jared had never heard before. 

Later that night, Jared heard his mother and Luke argue over money, bills, and Aaron. 

Jared did his best to stay out of the way for the whole week. He helped make dinner with whatever he could find in the kitchen or from whatever Andy brought home from the grocery store that was half-off or on special. 

If Jared never sees another peanut butter sandwich again, it will be too soon.

Chaos has not allowed him leisure or energy to wash his clothes. He’s not exactly dirty, but he is wrinkled and stained and patched up. It’s not the end of the world.

It’s not. 

It can’t be.

Except.

Maybe it is.

Because of all the things to happen--of all the infinite possibilities the universe had to chose from--he thinks he’s started going into heat.

And it sucks. 

It is nothing like the snippets of trashy romance novels he’s read in the library or at Shady Pines. It’s nothing like the brief portrayals of it he’s heard on radio programs. And it most certainly isn’t like any of the whispered, giggling speculation his omega classmates have participated in. 

A passionate fire does not burn from his loins. 

Instead, he feels constantly flushed, irritable, and nauseated. Oh, and thirsty. He can’t drink enough water. Soda or coffee make it worse. He wakes up sweating and gross and uncomfortable all over and he has prayed, repeatedly prayed, that no one in his house has noticed. 

Especially his mother.

She can probably sense or smell it, but Jared continues to pray that she’s been too busy to take serious notice or have a conversation with him about it. 

Grams and Mrs. Mwali end their visit right before Jared finishes the second plate of food. He thanks Mrs. Mwali again and she bows in acknowledgment. 

“Always a sweet visit,” Grams sighs, closing the door. She sits next to Jared and pats his knee. “Jaybird, we need to talk.”

Those are less frightening words than if they were coming from his mother, but still, Jared does not feel a sense of excitement. “Do we have to?” 

“I think we do.”

“Can I have tea first?”

“Tea after.” Her voice stays firm, and her eye shift from adoring to concerned. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten a good meal?”

Jared meets her eyes, refusing to break their contact. “I ate yesterday.”

“You ain’t never lied to me before. Why now?”

“I’m not lying. I ate yesterday.”

“Alright. What did you eat?”

“...I had a sandwich and some crackers.”

“And then?”

“Some cereal at school.”

With another, heavier sigh, Grams shakes her head. “It ain’t right, Jaybird. It ain’t right for you to be eating from the old folk’s home cafeteria.”

“I’ll stop,” Jared blurts out, terror in his veins. “I’ll stop eating from there. I don’t have to bother anyone for anything.”

“No, no, my love, that’s not it,” Grams says and grabs his hands. “You eat here all you want. But it ain’t right for you to depend on it to get a good, hot meal. What is going on at home?” 

At that question, Jared looks down at his shoes. “It’s just… busy. Everyone’s really busy.”

Grams covers her mouth for a moment. She struggles in a way he’s never seen before. She struggles to find words and convey the appropriate emotions. That has never happened between them. 

“How many days of school have you missed?”

“Grams, I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“But I need to, Jaybird.” She holds his hands and gives a squeeze. “Someone has got to talk about this, even if it’s some old coot.”

Jared’s stomach lurches at the prospect of more talking and emotional work. “Okay,” he murmurs. “But please don’t make me answer more than I want to.”

“I won’t. I know you got your reasons.”

“...”

“Honey, I’m gonna ask a personal question. If you don’t wanna get into it, that’s fine. But I sure hope you trust me enough to see if I can help out.”

He nods. 

“Are you in heat?” 

He nods again.

“Do you understand what’s happening?”

The urge to nod knocks around in his stomach. Just say yes. Say yes and she will back off. There’s no reason he has to share the repeated torture of waking up in the middle of the night, confused, in pain, and sweating through his night shirt. Say yes because there’s no need to share that in every fevered dream, there is the one person totally forever out of his reach. One person with green eyes and freckles and firm, strong hands.

“No.” His face flushes. “Not really.”

Grams pats his hands and runs a hand through his hair, like she used to when he was small. The touch feels good, warm and reassuring, and he leans into it more than he’d care to admit. She doesn’t say anything about it; she only runs her hand through his hair one more time. 

“Help me make this tea,” Grams offers. “This calls for tea and a slice of something sweet.”

Without much words between them, they put together a tray of tea and slices of cheesecake. She makes his tea exactly how he likes it and gives him the bigger slice of dessert. And when they start talking, she avoids childish names for things, focuses on facts, and talks to him as a young adult--not a child or an adult. For all of the dread, Jared finds himself enjoying their talk about omega heats and what to expect. They don’t talk about home or his mother or school or his stepbrothers or his sister. Grams talks about him and him only. She cracks a joke here or there. 

Before Jared leaves for the night, she fishes out money from her purse. 

“I can’t,” he starts. “Grams, I’m fine.”

“This ain’t for clothes or food. Go to the shop on Main and Center, ask for Rita.”

The world doesn’t seem as hot or confusing when he leaves Shady Pines. 

That’s a first.


	26. Chapter 26

The next day, Jared slips out of the house early, before anyone else wakes up, and goes to school for a few hours. He takes one of the dollars he’s saved up from working on the fence and buys a proper breakfast at the cafeteria. The lunch lady serves him a plate of runny scrambled eggs, shriveled bacon, toast, two packets of jam, an apple, and a muffin that may or may not be a cupcake without frosting. 

He pockets the cupcake and apple in his backpack for later. 

During homeroom, Jared sneaks into the omega locker room and gets down to business. He unfolds three shirts from his backpack and two pairs of jeans. Anxiety causes his heart to skip a beat when he can’t find the travel size box of laundry soap. After some digging, he locates it and starts washing his clothes in the shower. Thankfully, each shower stall has a flimsy curtain, so he showers and washes clothes in relative privacy. 

He wouldn’t have to do this if he didn’t keep sweating through his clothes so much. 

And if there wasn’t always a load of laundry in the machine at home. He could just switch out the clothes and put in his own, but there’s always clothes in the dryer and he’s been snapped at about leaving damp clothes lying around. It’s just more hassle than it’s worth.

Besides, at least here he can stand under the spray of water as long as he’d like with no one to yell at him about the water bill or needing to use the toilet. Other omegas pass through the locker room. Two use the stalls not far down from Jared. They chat with each other, talk about what movies they’ll watch tonight, laugh about their classes, complain about how early their curfews are. They talk about going to the mall two towns over and buying new clothes. 

Because that’s a thing young people do.

Jared scrubs at his clothes and stays in the shower until everyone else leaves and the water turns cold.


	27. Chapter 27

With the change from breakfast, Jared buys lunch from the cafeteria. The same lunch lady serves him. She counts his change and frowns. It’s not enough. Jared thinks through his list of excuses, pleas, or rationales. 

“Did you eat that apple from breakfast?” 

“Huh? Uh. No, I saved it. For later.”

Shaking her head, the lunch lady hands over a tray and tells him to stop slowing down the line.

He adds the fruit cup on the tray to the collection in his backpack, eats, and disappears from school with a damp backpack full of clothes, fruit, and a mystery muffin.


	28. Chapter 28

Jared hangs his clothes on tree branches. He climbs as far up as he can. 

Any further and someone would have to call the fire department to fish him out. His jeans flap as a slight breeze drifts past. 

“Holler if anyone tries to steal you,” he yells up at his clothes. “I’ll be back soon.”

Great. Now he’s talking to clothes. If he wasn’t considered a strange outcast before, this seems to seal the deal. No one’s around, but that doesn’t seem to matter anymore. If he does something uncool and no one’s around to see it, he’s still uncool. 

How fucking unfair.

Not in the best of moods, Jared heads over to the shop on Main and Center. 

He stands outside it for a minute. 

Contemplating alternatives, he rocks on the balls of his feet. Can’t he just ignore what his body is going through and carry on? Soldier through? Push forward? 

Grams explained what this shop sells. And she said to ask for Rita, an old friend of hers who would take care of Jared. He is not the first omega ever to have their first heat and need supplies. And even if he was, Grams insisted that he’d be okay. There are folks around to help.

This just seems like something he isn’t ready to face or deal with. It’s more of a nuisance than a rite of passage. He could save this money. 

But that’s not why Grams gave it to him. She isn’t exactly rolling in money either. So he should be grateful and just walk right in and pretend like he knows what he’s doing and totally doesn’t have three pairs of jeans hanging in a tree right now. 

Jared opens the door and steps inside. 

He does not spontaneously combust. Good. Good progress. 

Sighing, he digs down deep inside of himself and extracts a few threads of courage. He walks right up to the front counter and waits in line to speak to the cashier--an older omega woman in a wheelchair, her gray hair tied back in a bun. This will be okay. He will be okay. There aren’t that many people in the shop and he can have a conversation like a normal person. 

Until a red truck pulls up and parks right in front of the shop. 

And an alpha with a jawline that could break concrete steps out. 

Jensen walks in, completely oblivious to how he looks or the effect it has on the people around him, like some handsome, charming jerk. 

Green eyes go wide at the sight of Jared. 

“Errand,” Jared blurts out. “I’m running an errand. For. My. Mom.” 

“Some errand,” Jensen says with a smile, “in the middle of the school day.” 

“Wow, look at you, you can tell time.” 

“Hey now, I was just makin’ an observation is all.” Jensen sets down the tool box he was carrying. “Martha and I have missed you. Everything going okay? You’re not avoidin’ me, are you? I swear I can change.” 

Jared’s previously cranky mood transforms into dangerous butterflies lodged in his stomach. Before he can reply with something either horribly embarrassing or sassy, the cashier greets Jensen and thanks him for helping with the ramp outside. Jensen stands next to Jared and talks, confident and smooth as usual, his voice a bonfire of warmth. He pats Jared’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze. 

“I’ll go get started.” Squeeze. Their eyes meet. “And you,” he says to Jared. “Don’t be a stranger. Even just for dinner, you’re welcome to swing by. I mean it. No manual labor necessary.” 

Those green eyes and strong hands leave. 

“That man’s gonna break so many hearts,” the cashier sighs as soon as Jensen walks outside. She turns to Jared. “What can I help you with, dear?” 

Maybe Jared’s heart isn’t broken, but he can feel it jump whenever Jensen touches him. 

Brave, Jared introduces himself and reveals his purpose. 

“So you’re Mona’s boy,” Rita chuckles. “You’re just as adorable as she said. Lord, I haven’t seen her in ages. Well, let’s get you set up. A beginner’s kit, right?”

After a quick glance outside, Jared nods and murmurs, “Yes, ma’am.” 

He spends his money, runs past Jensen outside, collects his clothes down from the tree, and hauls ass back home. He uses his expertise in slipping in and out of places unseen and holes himself up in his room-pantry. His mother is in the living room with Baby Rose, talking on the phone with someone at work. The boys will be home from school soon enough and she’ll be even busier then. 

In theory, Jared could stay here, curled up, and maybe do some homework or sleep. 

He shouldn’t do anything with what he bought from the shop. Nope. Nothing. Not until nighttime. The last thing he needs is someone barging in and catching him… using… doing… 

Curiosity arm wrestles his willpower and wins within seconds. 

Jared empties the bag in a corner of the pantry. He sits cross legged and goes through each product, reading labels carefully. Rita gave him a tiny vial of essential oil for relaxation. She said the first time might hurt and the oil would help calm him down. Next up, Jared examines the two tubes of lube. One is regular, made for sensitive skin, and the other is made to warm up after a few minutes. 

Finally, he unpacks what Rita called, “The star of the show.” 

He had his choice between colors--bright red, blue, purple, or pink. He chose purple. 

The dildo stares at him.

It looks ten times bigger than when he held it in the shop. Did Rita play a prank on him? Is this part of some awful joke? He could kill someone with this thing if he whipped it at them hard enough. And he knows a few stepbrothers he could test out that theory on. Death by dildo. They’d probably even find it a little funny. 

“How?” Jared whispers to himself, holding the dildo with both hands like a sword. 

This is all supposed to somehow fit inside him? Down there? And this is supposed to make him feel better? He roots around in the bag and finds the suction cup that attaches to the base of the dildo. Rita said he’d love the suction cup as much as the dildo. 

The suction cup has a lot to live up to. 

Jared shoves everything back into the bag, bundles it up, and buries it under blankets, clothes, and books. 

Later. 

He will deal with the purple potential weapon later. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! Comments are love. <3
> 
> to find out more about how you can support me outside of AO3, check out my tumblr: compo67.tumblr.com. also, as the month of april continues, you'll be able to read my whining and rambling about my big bang. XD


	29. Chapter 29

Later arrives when Jared is bone tired. He crawls onto his mattress and contemplates crying, then going to sleep. 

But his body aches too much to cry. How fucked up is that? Even his hair hurts. Baby Rose kept pulling at it. She also kept spitting up, crying, screaming, wiggling, pooping, and otherwise ignoring Jared’s pleas to grow up and be eighteen years old already. Even when his shift was over, she continued crying. And either she’s still crying or his ears are ringing. 

The adults in their household are obviously trying to keep things together and losing that battle. Andrew received detention for a week after getting into a fight--and he didn’t even win. This wasn’t Jared’s observation; it was Andrew’s. He listened to Andrew shout and whine all night that next week, just everyone wait, next week he’ll get revenge. Right. Jared ignored his stepbrothers as per usual, but they all just seemed so damn helpless all at once. Andrew spent all evening pacing and muttering, punching pillows and kicking books. Aaron was covered in what looked like mosquito bites and itched more than a few until they bled. And Adam was way too preoccupied with poking at a mound of ants near the back porch to be of any help. 

Jared’s mother arrived to a house of utter chaos and lunacy. She spent much of her time screaming at or to whoever was in a ten mile radius, including Jared. Apparently, taking care of Baby Rose also meant that he was supposed to fold laundry and clean her bottles. 

All Jared could do in response to the screaming was scream back.

And Baby Rose was not a fan of anyone trying to scream louder than her.

In bed, Jared covers his head with a pillow. He shimmies out of his jeans and kicks them aside. Living in a chicken coop looks mighty good right now. He could invite Martha over. Then maybe Jensen would follow and he might notice Jared. Maybe even notice Jared the way he wants to be noticed. 

What way is that?

He isn’t interested in writing declarations of love onto notebook paper, folding it up into a square, and handing it to Jensen to read later. And he’s definitely not interested in asking Jensen if he’d walk him home or buy him an ice cream cone or go for a visit to the mall. 

His interest lies in campside fires after a long day of working with tools and muscle. Sleeping bags rolled out onto dusty, soft, earth underneath a clear sky. Comfortable silence; wordless communication in a harmonious rhythm of sight, touch, and scent. Clean sweat. Leather. Pine and oak. Rich, dark soil. Denim and fabric softener. 

Heat pools in the small of Jared’s back and extends over to his hips. He closes his eyes and sinks into the feeling, too tired to fight it, but unable to do much about it. His stomach hurts, except it’s not really his stomach, it’s right below it. Finding a comfortable position proves difficult as he starts to sweat. Why. Why is it like this? Why is his body like this? Can the people in his house smell his distress? He hopes not. All he wants to do is go through this as quietly and privately as possible. 

Phantom needles prick at Jared’s fingers and toes. He squirms around, his cock responding. He’s been hard before, but never with so much urgency. It strains against his threadbare boxer shorts and demands attention. 

But he’s so damn tired. 

Jared decides to ignore everything and fall asleep. 

Except, his body has other plans. 

At four in the morning, he wakes up with a jolt, gasping and tense all over. He sits up and for a second, thinks that holy shit, he’s wet himself. Is he spending that much time with Baby Rose? Closer inspection tells him that okay, yeah, he probably is, but he’s actually sitting in a pool of sweat and something sticky. 

He shudders when he finds out that the something sticky is slick from between his legs. With his heart pounding against his ribs, he tries to clean up, but finds that his hands and sense of balance refuse to work. 

And fuck, he is thirsty. When did his mouth get so dry? 

It’s a struggle to move around. His body refuses to cooperate. He’s got to clean up, get rid of his sheets, and take a cold, cold shower. Maybe submerge himself in ice cubes. Maybe just crawl into a deep, dark hole and set up a permanent residence there. At least then, it’d be quiet.

Tossing and turning quickly evolves into crawling and dragging himself towards the door. Water. He needs water first. After that, everything else will fall into place. And even though there’s no sense in beating himself up for not using his kit, he beats himself up for not using his kit. All of this could have been prevented if he had just… or… and then… but if not… 

Exhaustion slams Jared down and holds him to the floor. He lays his cheek onto the hardwood floor and feels gratitude that at least the floor feels cool. He is not lying in a pit of lava, that’s good. That’s a plus. 

Halfway out of his room, lying in the doorway, Jared decides to rest for a minute. He curls up and bites down on his shirt as his body produces a gush of slick. It feels so uncomfortable. Gross and embarrassing. And he doesn’t want anyone to know about this. 

It feels like one more thing to hold against him. 

Footsteps sound out on the stairs. Jared freezes, then panics, then tries to lift himself up. Retreat. Push back. Run, run! 

Well, like hell he’ll run, but the least his body could do now would be to let him roll back into his room. Nope. Not happening. Jared lifts his upper body up, but crumbles two seconds after. His face meets the floor again. Great. Just great. Jared digs his nails into the floor. Between the overwhelming thirst in his mouth that seems to pull on every vein in his body and the panic swelling in his chest, his body refuses to respond to any logic. He can’t even wipe the sweat off his forehead, which has caused his hair to hang in limp, damp strands. 

The footsteps make their way closer and closer. Jared prays that one of his stepbrothers haven’t woken up for a glass of water. Or his mother. That would be worse. The worst. He doesn’t want her to know. He doesn’t want anyone in this house to know. 

“Jared?” Luke rushes forward. He kneels beside Jared. “Fuck, what…” He hesitates before placing his hands on Jared--Jared notices it, bright as day. There’s a twitch or a flinch or something that Jared sees despite the heat, the thirst, and the pain. 

“It’s okay,” Luke murmurs. His right hand presses against Jared’s forehead. It feels cool. “You’re burning up. I… I gotta go get your mother.”

Jared lets out a whine and manages to shake his head no. He mumbles something, some slur of words, and tugs on Luke’s sleeve. Anything but that. And it’s not like he can adequately explain it, but please, don’t tell. Not now. Not like this, please. 

A struggle plays out over Luke’s eyes and expressions. He places his right hand over his mouth, then runs a hand through his hair. Half a minute later, Luke says something, but Jared can’t hear it over the workings of his body. He yips as Luke lifts him up. Luke uses his own coat to bundle up Jared and carries him out to the truck. 

Outside feels better. Cooler. Lighter. 

Slumped against the door, Jared closes his eyes and focuses on the breeze from the window as Luke drives. He listens to the crunch of ground and gravel underneath the tires. He’s sweating into Luke’s coat, but can’t find the strength to shuck it off of him to spare it. The truck stops. Luke pats Jared’s knee, then hops out and walks away, somewhere. Even if Luke leaves him in the truck, Jared doesn’t mind. It’s better than the pantry. Not much room, but the window’s rolled down and that feels good. 

Jared’s door opens with a great deal of care. Two sets of hands lift him out of the truck. Someone carries him by the shoulders, someone else carries him by the legs. 

“Jesus, Luke…”

“I know. I know.”

“Shouldn’t…”

“He doesn’t…”

“...I don’t know…”

“Me neither.”

“Someone has to…”

“Jensen. Don’t.”

“Fine.”

“I got a job. I can’t miss out today. I just can’t.”

“It’s okay. I just… don’t know what all to do.” 

“I feel awful.”

“Hey.”

“What?”

“Go to work. I’ll handle the rest.”

“You’re sure?”

“What, you don’t trust me?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Luke--go to work. I’ll go call Mona.”

“He might not like that.”

“I think she already knows.”

“What? How?”

“I was in town yesterday. Look, nevermind. Go on, don’t be late. Leave a number I can reach you just in case.” 

“Okay. Here’s the foreman’s number. And Kate’s number at work, just in case. Fuck, I feel awful about all of this.”

“Well, feelin’ awful ain’t gonna put food on the table. Git. Martha and I got this until I can reach Mona. Maybe I can get that dumbass security guard to drive her over.” 

Both of their voices lulls Jared into a state of less pain and panic. Even though he knows he’s on a bed, his mind floats, hovering slightly above everything and everyone. What an odd feeling. 

Luke leaves. Jensen stays. He spends some time in the kitchen, on the phone, then swings back to the room. He drags over a chair and sits down at Jared’s bedside. He places a hand on Jared’s head and brushes away the hair from his forehead. With his other hand, he sets down a cool, damp towel. 

Every few minutes, Jensen takes the towel off, wrings it out, dunks it into a bucket, and replaces it. He adds another one on the back of Jared’s neck. Jared shudders and moans into his damp pillow. Everything feels overwhelmingly good, to the point where it hurts. Pain and aches radiate from head to toe. True relief comes sparingly, but when it does, Jared’s breathing steadies. 

Jensen takes a fresh towel, dips it into a second bucket, and folds up the corners. Gently, he presses a corner against Jared’s lips. 

“Slow,” Jensen whispers. “Not too fast.” 

Jared tears up, sniffling, sucking on the towel. Water hits his tongue. 

Time passes without certainty. Jared only knows that the sun is out. He closes his eyes and listens to the creak of the floorboards as Jensen leans and moves to replace towels or reach the buckets. 

Before sleep, Jared listens to Jensen humming. He feels Jensen’s hand sweep through his hair again. And he becomes aware of an extra presence on the bed. 

Martha plops next to him. 

She only pecks him once.


	30. Chapter 30

Jensen’s bed smells like alpha.

Jared takes deep, slow breaths of this scent, so profoundly appealing and enticing that the tension in his muscles seems to disappear. One inhale. One exhale. Jared noses the pillow and burrow underneath blankets that have been placed onto him. 

Heat no longer plagues his body. 

He’s thirsty still, but much less desperate for water than earlier. How long ago was that? He won’t know unless he gets up. But then that would mean giving up his spot, nestled in soft sheets, pillows, and blankets--the scent of leather, smoke, and grass embedded in all. This may never ever happen again. 

It probably shouldn’t have happened in this first place. 

Blushing, Jared turns over, curls up on his side, and tries not to think of what he would like to do in this bed both by himself and with company. This is where Jensen sleeps. And possibly does other things. Maybe he reads before turning the light out. Maybe he lies here for a few minutes in the morning after he wakes up and lingers before starting the day. Maybe his hands roam his body in the most casual, carefree way. 

Or maybe he closes his eyes and thinks about… 

Jared sits up in bed, upset. 

There’s no way Jensen would ever. No. Never. It’s impossible. It is so beyond possible, he might as well tie the idea to a balloon and send it off to the moon. It’s all incredibly, highly, outrageously unlikely so he might as well just squash any notion of it. 

He listens for activity throughout the house. 

Nothing.

At least, nothing he can hear. 

Slowly, Jared sinks back into the bed and its now familiar scents. There can’t be any harm in resting. And the place he can rest happens to be in this bed in this room. Someone, likely Jensen, drew the thin curtains on the window and closed the door, which means this is the most privacy Jared has had in years. And all with the decadent luxury of an actual bed in an actual room without baby sisters or stepbrothers around.

For two minutes, Jared contemplates testing the boundaries of this space.

Guilt and embarrassment reel him back in and prevent his hands from wandering too far away. 

However, there can’t be any harm in falling back asleep, right? He’s supposed to rest--so he closes his eyes and rolls around in the bed before finding a comfortable position curled up on his side. Is he ridiculous or does this spot seem to have a Jensen-shaped indent to it? 

It seems unlikely he’ll fall asleep again with his mind so preoccupied. But he underestimates the extent of exhaustion on his body and slips back into sleep within just a few minutes. He feels himself drift off, comfortable and warm. 

Jensen walks into the room. His smile exudes warmth and affection--all of it focused squarely on Jared. Impossible. No--go with it. 

If his classmates get to have trips to the mall to buy things that are real--why can’t he have this? Why can’t he have this one small thing to himself in the locked corner of his mind? The only person he’s hurting here is himself. And when Jensen starts undressing after a day of work on the ranch, Jared accepts that hurt without question. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” Jensen murmurs, one hand on his belt buckle. 

“You couldn’t possibly,” Jared replies, sitting up in bed. 

Green eyes flash with amusement. “C’mon, birdy. Say it.” 

“I’m birdy now, huh?”

“As in Jaybird,” Jensen coos. He slips off his belt, followed by his jeans. All that’s left are a pair of black boxer briefs--fitted and snug against Jensen’s hips and thighs. He climbs into bed, on his knees, and closes the distance between them with the same amount of confidence and efficiency as digging post holes. “You gonna hold out on me?”

Jared’s mouth feels dry. His mind scrambles to put together a decent retort. He meets Jensen’s look and maintains it. “I’ll hold out on any man that keeps me waiting.” 

“Ouch.” Jensen dips down and places a kiss on Jared’s cheek. Light from the lamp on the nightstand makes his shoulders look like honey. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting, birdy.” 

“That’s better,” Jared huffs. 

“Do I get a kiss now or what?”

“If you must.”

“I must,” Jensen laughs. He brings with him the smell of fresh cut tall grass and gusts of crisp, clean wind unimpeded by buildings. The kind of wind that dries clothes on a line and makes the fabric soft, fluffy. 

Their lips meet in a purely familiar way.

No fumbling, no awkward movement, no time spent adjusting or rearranging. They slot together. Jared leans into it like water. His arms sling over Jensen’s shoulders and pull him down. The bed frame creaks as they move their bones together.

Once under the covers, Jensen kisses the line of Jared’s throat. He holds Jared in one arm, and with the other, leads an expedition of fingertips. Skin to skin contact. Jared doesn’t spend a second worrying about what Jensen sees or touches. This is all established. This is all that ever was and will be. 

Jensen’s hand slips between Jared’s legs and grasps his cock. He then tilts his hips forward and presses the hardness of his own cock against Jared’s thigh. Call and response. 

A more manageable heat builds in the small of Jared’s back and extends all the way to the tip of his cock. His fingers curl in Jensen’s hair and their lips meet with a more urgent tempo. He’s been waiting for this, for all this warmth, for all this firm, lean expanse of freckles and muscle. For the glimpses of smiles and the accents of moans and the shelter provided by broad shoulders.

Two fingers slide down the length of Jared’s cock, over the curve of his balls, and graze down, over the source of sticky, abundant slick. 

“You’re wet already,” Jensen breathes into Jared’s chest. His hair sticks up in all directions. 

Jared smooths a few tawny pieces down. “I told you--I’ve been waiting for you, Jen.”

“Call me that again.”

“Hmm.”

“Don’t be mean.” Jensen tests slipping in a finger, but promptly pulls back. “Don’t be a tease.”

With a shudder, Jared gasps. “Ahh… who’s the tease?”

“Call it even.” Teeth drag over Jared’s chest. “C’mon.”

Those fingers provide incentive. One pushes in with a squelch loud enough to make them both moan. Jared melts over the first finger and the second, slipped in alongside, eased in with a stretch--causing Jared to whimper. With care, Jensen moves his fingers. Sometimes he curls them. Sometimes he scissors. Sometimes he does nothing more than hold them there and steadily push them deeper, testing angles and walls. 

The sheets under Jared get damp. 

“Jen,” Jared exhales. “Oh, fuck, Jen. That feels so good.” 

Jensen noses the space where Jared’s jaw and throat meet. He breathes in deep and rumbles, “How long did it take you to call me that?”

“Years,” Jared admits and spreads his legs open a little wider. He relaxes, listening to the sound of Jensen’s fingers working. Once Jensen’s fingers ghost over a sensitive bundle of nerves, Jared blurts out, “Don’t tease, Jen. Please.”

The transition doesn’t make sense. One second--fingers. The next second--mouth. 

Jared blows Jensen. He lies down, while Jensen kneels and rocks forward, eyes glued on the sight of how his cock looks sliding into Jared’s willing mouth. 

Everything narrows down to sucking Jensen’s cock. More spit. Just a hint of teeth--the way he likes it. Moan here, right over the head. Moan here, right near the base. Take him in deep, take him in shallow. Take him in whole--all at once--in a satisfying rush.

Jensen has been nothing but patient and kind.

He runs a hand through Jared’s hair and cups his face. 

Another disjointed transition. The blankets and sheets cover Jensen’s shoulders and form a tent when he rests on his knees. Jared laughs at a joke. He brings his legs up, and offers a place which Jensen calls home.

The first thrust overwhelms Jared. 

How can something feel so good? 

How could this ever not feel so good?

“Jen.”

“Birdy?”

“Move.”

“Yes, dear.”

The bed shakes. 

The sheets twist. 

The same old floorboards groan.

Jared shouts. “Jen, Jen, Jen, Jen…” 

Jensen’s knot pushes against the limited, yet giving space. Jared’s body responds with a gush of slick that makes him gasp and arch up. Ready. He’s ready for it. He’s ready for this alpha to knot him and for them to come--messy, desperate, and fierce. 

The transition makes Jared’s head spin. One orgasm. Two orgasm. Three.

Jensen fucks him through each one. He encourages the marks left from fingernails over his back. He kisses Jared sloppy and hungry. They are together a mess and a half of sweat, come, and slick.

And still, they are together.

“Again,” Jensen growls into Jared’s ear. “Let’s go again, birdy.”

On his response, Jared wakes up.

“Jen.”

Which would be worse? The real Jensen standing in the doorway--shocked and disturbed to find that Jared has had a heat dream in his bed and thoroughly dampened the sheets while calling out a version of his name? 

Or waking up to a still empty room, where neither dream or real Jensen exist at all?

That second one.

Because at least if Jensen were to witness this, then he’d know how Jared felt and things would be out in the open for better or for worse. Stuff would happen. Stuff and things. 

Alone, nothing has changed.

He’s left with growing pains in his hips and heart.


	31. Chapter 31

Jared’s attempt to quietly clean up fails. 

In the middle of gathering up the sheets so he can either clean them, burn them, or destroy them--the door opens. His heart and body freeze, sheets bundled in his arms, caught red-handed. 

Grams peeks in. 

“Oh! You’re awake!” She slips in, closes the door, and takes a few steps towards Jared. “Honey, let me help you with that.”

“No,” Jared blurts out. “No, I’m fine.” He shies away from her and holds the sheets tight to his chest. “I can do this.”

With care, Grams takes another step forward and holds her hands out. She keeps her voice low and calm. “Jaybird, honey, I’m here to help. I ain’t gonna think of you any less or differently if I help you out with the bedding. We’ll get this sorted out and then you can take a nice hot bath.” 

The mention of a bath holds undeniable appeal. 

“And,” Grams adds, “once you’re done with your bath, you can join me for lunch.” 

Lunch. That sweetens the deal. He could have a long bath without stepbrothers running down the hallway and banging on the door and screeching at him to hurry up and get out. And he could have a leisurely dinner without a baby hanging off his hip and his mother screeching at him to study more for school but could he also please take care of Baby Rose tonight? 

“And,” Grams goes on. “I got a cot with your name on it to spend the night at my place.”

Jared briefly contemplates the idea that he might have just died and gone to heaven. But if this is heaven, why does he still have to do laundry? 

Tentatively, he murmurs, “Okay. But I’ll wash this. I can do it.” 

“That sounds fine, honey, just go take a bath and eat first.” She taps the doorframe. “Oh, I’ll bring you a change of clothes. We got the whole house to ourselves, so don’t you worry about that.”

“Where’s Jensen?” Saying his name causes a quick, hot spark through his body. 

“Oh, he decided to make himself busy out on the ranch working on the fence. Now c’mon, get going. I’m hungry too. You don’t suppose Jensen would miss that chicken, do you?” 

“Grams!”

“I’m kidding!”

“Don’t eat Martha.”

“Well, we might not eat Martha, but I can’t speak for her kin.”


	32. Chapter 32

Jared spends almost an hour in the bath tub.

Grams doesn’t hurry him when she checks in on him about halfway through. She doesn’t bang on the door and demand to be let in or to give up the bathroom or to get out right away so he can do chores or take care of anyone. Once she verifies that Jared hasn’t drowned, she goes back downstairs.

In a decadent pool of hot water, Jared washes away sweat and slick. He submerges himself once, pushes the hair away from his eyes, and pretends that his everyday life could be just like this. A fluffy blue towel waits for him on the sink countertop. It looks big enough to wrap around himself and fluffy enough to provide ample warmth.

A charcoal gray robe hangs on a hook near the sink. Jared wonders if he can or should use it. It probably smells like Jensen. As does everything in this entire house--something he only somewhat noticed before.

Does he smell different? Will Jensen smell different to him? Can Jensen tell if he smells different? Will he say anything about it? Probably not. He’s too polite to point out something like that. Is this one of those things where he’s an adult now? Or will everyone just expect him to do adult things while still treating him like a child?

Probably that last one.

Relaxed, Jared’s hands wander.

Can he tell? Can he see or feel any difference after the fact? Does this still feel like his body?

Certain places feel significantly more sensitive to the touch. But that’s it. And nothing looks different or like it has changed in the past day or two. His hips don’t look or feel any curvier. Does this mean he can get pregnant now? Or was he always capable of that and this just increases the likelihood? Will he feel more of an attachment to babies or kids? What if he starts to want to have a baby?

His thoughts snap back to Jensen.

Jared sinks a bit further down into the water.

He might not mind too much if he got to have Jensen’s… No. Oh god. Is it starting? Is this where he starts drooling over people and focusing on doing whatever it takes to settle down with them?

Carefully, Jared climbs out of the tub.

How often does Jensen take a bath? There’s a shower stall, but it’s separate, so taking a bath is a purposeful act in this bathroom. Jared might move in a few tea light candles and books to make things a little more peaceful and familiar.

Is he trying to settle down with Jensen?

The fluffy blue towel smells like Jensen.

And the clothes that Grams found for him are Jensen’s, so they too, smell like Jensen. The scent bothers Jared. Or maybe it’s not the scent. The familiarity and comfort provided by the scent bothers him.

Downstairs, Jared starts up the first load of laundry. The washing machine looks ancient, but it’s clean and doesn’t make grinding noises.

He wears a simple yet soft navy Henley and jeans worn in enough that they feel like cotton. Grams smiles when she sees him and mentions how it probably won’t be long until he fills out Jensen’s clothes. It all does feel a little baggy, but he isn’t some stick figure. He’s got muscles and a shape to him.

“Eat up,” Grams announces and places plates down on the kitchen table. She replaced the flowers on the table with fresh ones. “Plenty more in the pot, so ask for seconds.”

Chili. Chicken sandwiches. Cornbread.

Before he digs in, he checks on Martha.

“Oh stop,” Grams huffs. She swats at his forehead. “I wouldn’t do that to our host. I found this chicken already in the fridge.”

“But where is she?”

“Outside. Where chickens belong, if you ask most folks.”

“She’s a good chicken,” Jared says, in between spoonfuls.

“You talk with your mouth full of food like that and there’ll be no dessert for you.”

“Sorry.”

“Speaking of manners, we need to talk. Like adults. One on one.”

Dammit. Tension returns to Jared’s shoulders. “Do we have to? Can’t it wait?”

His best puppy eyes have no effect on his one and only grandmother. She smooths down her dress. “I think it’s good for us to talk now--before Jensen smells that chili and comes in for lunch.”

“Well,” Jared mumbles, “I guess.”

Grams reaches over and places one hand over Jared’s. She gives a squeeze, followed by a pat. “I’m not _so_ scary. Or so old. I remember what it’s like being young. And going through heats.”

“When do they stop?”

“Oh… when you’re about fifty. Give or take a few years.”

“Greeeeaaaat.”

“Once you get through your first one, they aren’t terrible. And with proper supplies, you might even look forward to them. What happened to the money I gave you for the kit? Did Rita help you?”

“I bought it,” Jared blurts out, afraid she might think he squandered her money. “I did, you can ask Rita. I went there…” He catches himself before saying that he went during school. “Right after school and bought it. The receipt’s…”

“Easy there.” Grams serves him more chili and another square of cornbread. “I’m just askin’ some questions here. Did she explain how to use the kit?”

Nodding, Jared takes another bite of his sandwich. “She did. It was… kind of scary.”

“I know, but we talked about why you need it use it. Why didn’t you?”

His eyes drift over to the table, then the window. Anywhere but Grams. His voice comes out quieter than he means it. “I was too tired. I just… couldn’t.”

Terrible, awful silence occupies the space between them. Grams’ lips purse and she doesn’t say anything for an entire minute. Her eyes look hard and cold. He hasn’t seen her look like that since Gramps passed away. Unsure of what to say, Jared stays quiet and still.

When Grams begins to speak, relief does not sink in.

“Jared, are you happy?”

“Am I… what?”

“Are you happy?”

“Like… in this moment?”

“Overall.”

“Uh.”

How to respond? Honestly? Ideally? Optimistically? Maybe he can start with the truth and then crack a joke and distract her and then they could forget all about this conversation.

“You’re my only grandson,” Grams says, her fists clenched. “And I’m _not_ happy with your mother. Or Luke.”

“Luke’s the one who brought me here,” Jared pipes up. “And he’s the one who got me the job working for Jensen. I’m good at that.”

“You are more than just being good at working, Jared. You’re still a teenager, not an employee.”

“My mother is trying her best. Luke is trying his best. I… I don’t mind helping out.”

“This is beyond helping out.”

“Then what?” Jared snaps. “What do you want me to do? I don’t really have options, Grams. I’m trying my best.”

This is probably the first time he’s ever snapped at Grams.

Ever.

As turmoil bubbles in his stomach, he regrets eating so much. Or eating at all. This suddenly feels like a ploy to get him to open up and reveal his innermost feelings. That’s all adults seem to do to him these days--offer something in the hopes of getting him to share or do something for them.

“Stop that.” Grams stands up and immediately embraces Jared, pushing past his resistance. She ruffles his hair. “I can see the wheels turning and I don’t like where they’re headed. I’m your grandmother. I don’t want nothin’ from you but the best. Understood? I didn’t fix you lunch because I needed to pry information out of you.” She squeezes his hand again. “I’m sorry, honey. I should have let you eat your lunch in peace.”

Boots sound out on the porch steps.

Jensen opens the door and walks in, Martha leading the way.

Does the man realize how good he looks after work? Does he realize how good he looks existing? And to think, Jared slept in his bed, bathed in his tub, used one of his towels, is wearing his clothes, and is washing his sheets. Sheets that Jared…

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Jensen says, setting down his hat on the table. His eyes look bright from the activity and sunshine.

Grams looks at Jared then over to Jensen. “Nope, not a thing. Sit yourself down, I’ll serve you lunch.”

“It smells dee-licious. Let me just wash up.”

In another universe, far, far away, this might be routine. Maybe the three of them have lunch on a regular basis. Maybe they invite Grams over every weekend. Or maybe…

“I need to leave,” Jared gasps, scrambling over to Grams. “Grams, I can’t stay here any longer.”

She takes a second to look at him and pieces together whatever she needs to. “Whatever you need, Jaybird.”

Thank god.

Jared ducks into the pantry with Martha while Grams lets Jensen know they should get going. She says something about being back early, and while Jensen offers to drive them, she expertly declines the offer. Her voice sounds distant as she excuses herself to go call Roy.

Martha pecks at Jared’s sneakers. Luke somehow thought to bring them with.

Jensen knocks on the doorframe. He leans against it, eating chili.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “How you doing?”

Fantastic. There were no sex dreams and they certainly did not involve you. “I’m fine,” Jared manages to get out. “Much better.”

“That’s good. You scared me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t say that for you to apologize.”

“Uhm… thank you. For putting me up.”

“Any time. I was happy to help.”

“...”

“You sure you wanna head back? I can drop you off later.”

“Oh. No, I should go with.”

“Ah, alright. Duty calls, huh?”

“I guess.”

“I could use some company working out there. Maybe y’all wanna walk out there with me while we wait for what’s his face.”

Jared hears the washing machine announce that its job is done. He could cry.

Instead, he follows Martha, Grams, and Jensen out to the fields.

Jensen shows Grams how to dig a post hole. Jared sits on a tool box and looks at the soil underneath his sneakers. A worm pops up. Martha swoops in and pecks at it. Within seconds, the worm is toast and she enjoys a free meal.

Unlucky worm. Lucky Martha.

Jared wonders which one he is--the worm or the chicken.

 

[I was watching Antiques Roadshow and found this. It makes me think of Jensen in this fic. "Checking the Fence" by Peter Heard.]

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's big bang time! two weeks to go and we'll be back to other updates. :) 
> 
> comments are love!


	33. Chapter 33

Three weeks pass by without much fanfare or any irregularities. 

The weather starts to cool, so Jared’s mother airs out warmer layers of clothing from storage. With Baby Rose strapped to his back, Jared helps her wash a variety of sweaters, jackets, blankets, and scarves. 

Andrew helps them sort and lay out clothes. After two minutes of this help, Jared remains surprised and suspicious. His stepbrothers have never contributed any significant help towards chores. If anything, they usually made things worse. 

Last week, the dryer gave out, and Luke has been unsuccessful in fixing it. Necessity demands that Jared hang up the wash on a drying line outside. 

Baby Rose wiggles in her sling. She coos and gurgles and twists around. Jared understands her restlessness; her present situation can’t be fun, especially on a bright, clear day. But he’s under orders to keep her close. Placing her down to roam in the grass could expose her to spiders or snakes. Jared murmurs to her an apology, but it is what it is. He’s not getting yelled at today.

Setting up wet, damp clothes feels almost as taxing as digging post holes, especially with the weight of a baby on his back. Jared tried adjusting the sling so Baby Rose would lay against his chest, but this confused and angered her when Jared was not her meal ticket. 

Their house has been the site of mounting tensions and awkward silences in these past three weeks. No one has been yelling or snapping at each other. In fact, it’s been the exact opposite. There has been so much silence and lack of willing communication between the adults in the house that it’s affected everyone but Baby Rose. Nothing and no one stops her from crying or getting into things. 

Throughout the past three weeks, even his stepbrothers have been jolted into good behavior by this change in the atmosphere. 

Adam and Aaron went to school today, while Andrew and Jared stayed behind to help with the laundry. Jared was cold when he stepped outside, but now finds himself sweating. Baby Rose is unaffected by the cooler temperature. She has Jared’s body warmth and the three layers of baby clothes to keep her warm. The second Jared takes down enough dry clothes to create a full basket, he sets Baby Rose down. 

“I’m getting too old for this,” Jared grumbles, rubbing his back. “No, don’t chew on the clothes.”

The sunlight that might have made for a sweltering day three months ago now provides only blinding light, since there are no clouds. Jared scoots the basket of clothes containing his sister into the shade provided by another line. Baby Rose blinks and claps her hands. 

Andrew ambles over, his footsteps loud on the fading grass. 

He places a basket of wet clothes down for Jared to hang up. But instead of ambling away and dithering on somewhere else, he sticks around. 

Jared picks up the first sweater on the new basket and searches for a spot on the line to hang it.

“So…” Andrew clears his throat. “Can I help?” 

“Knock yourself out,” Jared mutters. 

When pressured by Jared’s mother or Luke, the boys have been known to understand the concept of chores. Jared used to blame Luke for their behavior, or lack thereof, but the more time passed, the more he understood his stepbrothers. They are all weird, loud, and often incredibly foreign to Jared, but Luke was never able to stop working long enough to be there to enforce rules or structure. 

Jared often wonders why anyone has kids. He checks on Baby Rose. Taking advantage of his question, she smiles at him, calm and quiet. She’s happy enough to look at the clothes fluttering in the wind on the line. Jared raises an eyebrow at her. Hmm. Suspicious. 

“Uh, how’s school?” Andrew mutters, struggling to hang up a pair of jeans on the line. “How’s stuff?”

Stuff? Since when does Andrew care about… stuff? Jared is a year older, and he knows with absolute certainty that despite the small age gap, they have nothing in common. Andrew likes to hit people and wrestle them to the ground. Jared likes to not be hit and not be wrestled to the ground. Polar opposites. 

“Fine,” Jared mumbles. “Stuff is fine.”

There have to be reasons why Andrew is suddenly A) being helpful and B) trying to make conversation with Jared. 

“That’s cool.” 

“Uh huh.”

“Have… uh… you been good?”

“Oh yeah. Livin’ the dream. Especially hanging up this laundry.” One day, Jared will teach his baby sister the fine art of sarcasm. And hanging up laundry. Andrew is still on the same pair of jeans while Jared has hung up four shirts and two pairs of pants. 

“I guess that’s… cool.” 

“Why are you being so helpful?” Jared pauses his hanging in order to shoot Andrew a glare. The kind of glare that delivers a tell-tale message: he’s onto Andrew. 

Andrew fidgets. Poor sucker. Couldn’t even handle one glare. 

“I wanted to ask what you know about being in heat,” Andrew blurts out, his voice cracking. “That’s all, I just wanted to ask…”

“Keep your voice down!” 

“What? Why?”

“Jeez Louise.”

“...who’s Louise?”

Jared sighs and prays to the heavens to grant him patience. “If you start yapping away about shit like that, guess what the adults are going to make you do.”

“Uhh…” 

“They’ll lock you up and never let you out of the house because oh my god raging hormones--the horror,” Jared replies, in a deadpan. “You wanna be shut up in your room all the time just because you said shit too loud? That’s right, I didn’t think so. Besides, what makes you think I know anything?”

A blush slaps itself over Andrew’s face. He looks down at the ground. “I dunno. You just… look different. I guess.”

“Gross,” Jared corrects. “You mean I look gross.”

“No. Just different.”

“Well…” For a moment, Jared runs out of words. He doesn’t look gross? But what does Andrew know? He’s only sixteen. “I doubt I can tell you anything--you’re an alpha.” 

“I wanna know about sex,” Andrew spouts. That same pair of jeans falls from its haphazard place on the line. Andrew flinches and picks it up, then holds it against his chest. “I mean, I kinda know…”

“And what makes you think I know anything about sex?” As the words leave Jared’s mouth, he internally answers his own question--he’s older, therefore must be more worldly and experienced. Should he ham it up? Should he exaggerate? Act totally cool and make it seem like he’s definitely done all the things he’s daydreamed about ever since a certain alpha moved here? 

To save Andrew additional embarrassment--because he looks like he’s about to dig a hole for himself--Jared sighs and grumbles that he will try his best to answer specific questions. This gives Jared the upper hand; he gets to reveal as much or as little information as he wants. Grams taught him how to do that. Also, then Andrew won’t know that everything Jared knows about sex he’s learned from Grams, the ladies at Shady Pines, the men at Shady Pines, and the romance novels left lying around in common areas. 

“Uhm. Okay. I. Uh. I’m not sure I’m… that I like omegas.”

“There are plenty of alphas that only date other alphas.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know any?”

Jared has never lied to his stepbrothers. He hasn’t really needed to, they aren’t close that way. Maybe he hasn’t always told the whole truth about the presence of food in the house, but that’s different. That’s survival. 

“They’re older,” Jared settles on saying. “But yeah, they exist.” 

“Oh. Wow.” 

“Next question.” Jared checks on Baby Rose, who has thankfully decided to fall asleep in her new setup. Next time she refuses to sleep, he’ll just plop her in a laundry basket. Good plan.

As they wind through a handful of questions--all of which Jared can more or less accurately answer--he wonders if Jensen is only attracted to alphas. For certain Luke isn’t, or he wouldn’t have pursued and married Jared’s mother. But what about Jensen? Maybe one of them wanted more kids? Alphas can’t bear children. But damn, wouldn’t three be enough? Jensen could have adopted the boys. 

Jared describes alpha on alpha sex as best he can. Alphas with cocks have to buy lube; they don’t make it naturally like omegas do. And they have to navigate sex with two knots and two desires to do knotting. 

“I think I saw a kit at the shop. The one on Main and Center.” Baby Rose stirs, but quickly settles. Jared breathes a sigh of relief. He keeps his voice low. “I can show you it.”

Andrew nods in earnest. “Do you know how much it is?”

“Ten bucks, probably.”

“That’s a lot.”

“Ask your dad.”

“You just told me not to.”

“Well, not for  _ that _ . You can tell him something else, I don’t know.” 

“School field trip?”

“Whatever floats your boat.” 

“Think he’ll buy that?”

Before Jared can answer, his mother opens the screen door to the backyard and unleashes a series of shouts. Aaron fell off his bike and scraped his hands and face--Jared needs to come in and help. And Andrew needs to take out the trash and feed the dogs. What is wrong with them? Why aren’t they moving faster? 

“I…” Andrew coughs, hiding behind Jared despite being just as tall. He whispers to Jared. “I have a problem.”

Jared sighs and rolls his eyes. “Grab a laundry basket and hold it over your problem.”

Andrew goes for the basket with Baby Rose. Jared yips and takes the living, breathing baby from the basket. With the noise and nap-related interruption, Baby Rose erupts. She screams, shrieks, and wails--a volcano of cacophony. 

Halfway to the house, Andrew taps Jared on the shoulder. “I can take her for a while… I mean, if you want.” 

The last thing Jared needs while tending to Aaron--who is also crying--is a baby strapped to his back. Andrew never managed to hang more than the one pair of jeans on the line, but maybe he’ll be better at taking care of Baby Rose for ten minutes than he is at laundry. 

Baby Rose tangles her small yet lethal fists in Jared’s hair and pulls so hard, he drops the basket of laundry he was carrying. 

“Take her,” Jared gasps. “Take her now.” 


	34. Chapter 34

Jared slips out of the house at midnight.

Once he gets far enough away from the house to settle his anxiety, he starts to wonder why he’s never done this before. Everything’s different at midnight. A peculiar, yet tranquil shade of silence lies over each shop, store, and building. He keeps his footsteps quiet. 

Something bothered him after talking to Andrew. He felt a confusing combination of emotions and couldn’t sort them out. In between snapping at Aaron to quit crying and hold still, then changing Baby Rose’s diapers, then helping with dinner, he didn’t have a spare moment to think. Hell, he barely had a spare moment to clean up the spit from his neck and shirt. 

He thought about making the trek over to Shady Pines, but Roy will take any chance he gets to catch Jared committing a practical felony. And Grams is more than likely asleep. 

Walking the mile and a half to town felt good. He never realizes how stuffy the pantry gets until he spends some time outside, away from it. With no one around, he freely swings his arms, walks at his desired pace, and takes up all the space on the sidewalks. Old Paul, the lone cop on third shift, sits in his squad car parked at the Piggly Wiggly. Jared walks right past him. Old Paul frequently falls asleep on shift. Grams says he’s better off sleeping on duty than sleeping at home with his partner Gene. That’s a hot mess of a situation, according to everyone and God. 

The worst Old Paul would do to Jared would be to lecture him and drive him home, without waking anyone up as long as he promised to go right to bed. Roy would make sure the entire town knew what Jared was up to and then post it in the newspaper. 

Jared catches his reflection in a few store front windows. He’s taller than he was in the spring. And his hair has gotten floppy. 

He could pass for at least twenty, especially if he frowns. 

“Didn’t expect to see you out here.” 

For a brief moment, Jared thinks he hears Jensen. 

Mikey leans against the store front window of the ice cream parlor. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Not exactly,” Jared answers in the same hushed, casual tone. “You neither?”

“Something like that, I guess.” 

Neither of them expected to see or meet anyone out on the street at midnight. Mikey pushes off of the store front and sits on the street curb. He motions to the space next to him, offering an invitation to join him. 

They spend a few minutes in an awkward silence and share the stretch of road. Jared listens to the rustle of leaves tossed around in the occasional gust of wind, then to the steady inhales and exhales of the omega next to him. This, plus talking to Andrew, is more social interaction with people his age than he’s had in years. And he’s willing, which makes it all the more strange. 

“You ever want to leave this place?” Mikey sits forward. 

“Yeah,” Jared blurts out. “Of course I do.”

Mikey glances back at Jared. “Huh. Thought I was the only one.”

“Well… who doesn’t want to leave this place?” 

“All the people still here.”

True. Jared sighs. “I guess. Where do you wanna go?” 

Andrew readily offered up information. The same cannot be said for Mikey. “Anywhere but here.”

“Okay…” Try to resist. No one asked for Jared’s opinion. Oh, but come on. “Look. You have to have a plan. An idea. Some vague desire to see something specific? You can’t just get up and decide to leave one day. That’s ridiculous.”

Wide-eyed, Mikey looks at Jared. He clearly wasn’t ready for that. His brow furrows. “Why, though? Why do I need a plan? Why can’t I just get up and decide to leave?” 

Although the urge to smack Mikey on the forehead rears its ugly head, Jared resists its temptation. “Because without a plan, you’ll just wind up back here in a few months--broke and hungry.”

“Alright then, what’s your plan?”

Shit. 

“I’m gonna find work…” Jared starts, unsure of where this sentence is going. “At a ranch. Taking care of animals and the property.” He has plenty of experience taking care of Martha. And whatever he doesn’t know, he can learn. Confidence builds in his voice. “I already know the basics. I’ll head out to Dallas first, see who I can find, then spend some time going from place to place. Just me and my money.” 

The good thing about talking to others his age are the lack of questions. Mikey seems impressed. He mulls over what Jared said and nods in agreement. “That doesn’t sound bad. Better than getting out of here and working at another parlor.” 

“At least you get free ice cream.”

“Are you kidding me? Ever since I turned fifteen, my dad makes me pay for whatever I take,” Mikey grumbles. “Whatever. After you work with it all day, you don’t have a taste for it.”

Jared could work with Jensen all day and still have a taste for… No. Do not go down that road. Go down. Go down on… “So,” Jared coughs. “Do you have anything saved up from not buying ice cream?” 

They both hear a car in the distance. It can’t be Old Paul, he’s still knocked out in his squad car. Mikey looks down the road to the right while Jared looks to the left. So far, so good. They stand up just in case and lean on the store front. 

“Got about fifty bucks,” Mikey shares. “You?”

“Twenty,” Jared murmurs. 

“That’s good. I get tips for the shit I do. I doubt you do.”

“Be nice if I did.” Maybe then being spit on and screamed at would be more tolerable. “Do y’all need some help with another truck?” 

“Yeah. Monday. Swing by after school.”

“Do you still go?”

“Go where?” 

Jared runs a hand through his hair. “School. Do you still go?” 

“When the old man makes me. You?” 

“When I can. You really think we’ll need to know algebra in the real world?”

Mikey laughs, clear and uninhibited. “Shit, I sure hope not. I can make change and do the books here. That’s about as much as the real world gets from me.”

Old Paul wakes up. They can see him jolt awake from across the street. While he rubs the sleep away from his eyes, Jared and Mikey say their brief goodbyes. Even if Old Paul doesn’t pose much of a threat, there’s no sense in provoking fate.


	35. Chapter 35

In theory, Jared should go home. But also in theory, he should be in bed.

It felt good to talk to Mikey. Still, Jared finds himself stuck with a sense of restlessness. Old Paul revs up his squad car. He drives at a slow crawl, lights on, ready to apprehend all the miscreants up to no good. Jared heads the opposite way, first at a walk, then at a run. His legs and lungs complain for a few minutes until he finds a steady pace. His mother has always told him to wear boots outside at night--her cousin Chris hadn’t listened and ended up stepping on a rattler.

Soft from constant use, Jared’s sneakers hit the dusty road with gentle thuds.

In the distance, he spots the flickering light from a campfire.

Jared slows his pace back down to a walk. Based on the direction of the campfire, he knows whose property it’s from. And it’s out of his way. Majorly out of his way.

But what if he runs past? Just to make sure everything’s okay? Maybe that’s not a campfire. Gramps taught Jared how to differentiate between campfires and catastrophes, but what if Jared’s judgment is wrong? He would always regret turning away.

Time works differently at almost one in the morning out in the country.

It feels like an hour as opposed to the fifteen minutes it takes to reach Jensen’s house. When he does, he stops for a moment to fix his hair and smooth out his jeans. Worry hits him as he walks around to the back--what if he’s intruding? People do things at one in the morning because they can’t do them during any other time of day. Maybe Jensen has company over. Of the romantic kind.

He braces himself for noises and sights of intimacy. He can’t blame the person lucky enough to have Jensen alone, all to themselves, next to a comfortable fire on a calm, clear night.

In actuality, he finds Jensen sprawled out on a cot, light snores emanating from under his cowboy hat.

Nothing can stop the smile that tugs at Jared’s mouth. He notices the pot of coffee near the fire pit, an empty plate, and a guitar. No sight of Martha. She must be inside, clearly smarter than either of them. Jared looks around for a blanket, then possibly something to put out the fire. He’ll find these two things and head back home to continue dreaming. It will feel wrong, and he clings to every second spent searching for a blanket, but it’s reality.

“If you’re tryin’ to steal my truck, you’re a terrible burglar.”

Jared almost has a heart attack. “I’m not! Oh my god.” Clutching to his chest, he freezes. “I swear, I was just looking for a blanket and some water! How long have you been awake?!”

Jensen sits up, the biggest grin on his face. He laughs. “Long enough. Damn, I got you good.”

“You take some sick pleasure in scaring the shit out of people?!”

“Well… that depends. Did I really scare the shit out of you?”

“No!”

“Damn. Then I suppose I’m only a little pleasured.” Jensen’s eyes make quick work of Jared. “You’re out pretty late. Or early.”

The fire crackles, accusing Jared of staring at all the wrong places on Jensen. “I could say the same about you.”

“Uh huh,” Jensen says, taking his hat off. “Does anyone know you snuck out?”

“Do you have to ask that?”

“Stupid question,” Jensen concedes. “You know, the responsible thing would be for me to take you home right away and toss in a lecture or two about sneaking out.”

It isn’t fair for the fire to accuse Jared of staring. How could anyone resist staring? The fire only adds to the desire. The warm, merigold light makes Jensen look soft and unreal. And it’s only Jared and Jensen--no one else. Not for miles.

With the same intensity of heat as the fire, Jared blushes. He shrugs. “I suppose you could do that, if you wanted.”

After a few seconds of silence, Jensen stands up and stretches. He picks up a crate and sets it down near the cot. “There’s a bunch of stuff I’d like to do if I wanted. Pop a squat. I don’t think a few minutes will hurt anyone.”

“Did you ever sneak out?” Jared takes the offered seat, warmer within seconds, though not necessarily due to the fire. Jensen sits on the cot, inches away.

“A few times, here and there. You plannin’ on making this a habit?”

Jared laughs and rolls his eyes. “Probably not. Town is just as boring at night. It was nice to go for a run though.”

“Were you running away from something?”

It’s possible that Jensen means that as a joke. Possible. Jared goes for the safe answer. “I couldn’t sleep.” A shrug accentuates how not a big deal this is.

Still, Jensen carefully eyes Jared. “Uh huh. You know, if most people can’t sleep at one in the morning, they drink a glass of milk or something.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not like most people.”

“Touche.”

“You’re not gonna call Old Paul, are you?”

“That depends--who’s Old Paul?”

“He’s older than God.”

Jensen whistles and laughs. “I didn’t know about that title, but okay. So what does Old Paul do?”

“He’s the cop on duty this time of night.”

“Ah. No, I won’t call Old Paul.”

“He falls asleep in his squad car.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Why would I make this up?”

“Okay, okay. What if I went blazing through town in my truck at this hour?”

“He wakes up _sometimes_.”

“Oh, I see. So if any crime happens, or say, the end of the world, we’ve gotta pray that Old Paul just happens to be awake to warn the rest of us?”

“Pretty much.”

“As someone who’s new to the neighborhood, I find that extremely comforting.”

“If you’re dependent on Old Paul to tell you the world is ending, I have some questions for you.”

“Well, damn, don’t hold back on the sass, Jared.”

“I can’t. I took a sacred oath not to give anyone special treatment.”

“You’re too funny. I wish I had you out on the range with me once the animals get here.”

Jared’s heart skips. “I mean… I could help? You know, if you wanted me to. I can do more than dig post holes.”

“I know,” Jensen rumbles and shares a small smile. “We can cross that bridge when we get there.”

Silence joins them for a few minutes. Unlike his time with Mikey, this silence doesn’t feel awkward, stiff, or uncomfortable. Jensen must be used to silence, familiar with it, and Jared often craves it. Neither of them rush to speak. Jensen tosses a few chips of cherry wood into the fire pit, which has a soothing effect on Jared. His thoughts cease to race.

How many nights did Grams and Gramps share like this?

Does Jensen ever wish he had someone with him around the fire?

“I couldn’t sleep either,” Jensen mentions. His voice stays low. “I kept tossing and turning inside, so I figured I’d come out here.”

“Were you playing?” Jared motions over to the guitar.

“Just a song or two.”

“Just a song or two,” Jared echoes. “You really are an old cowboy.”

Jensen looks down at his boots and smiles, as if embarrassed. “Why, thank you.”

“Might be nice to hear a song.” Are these words really coming from Jared’s mouth? “Or two, you know.” No. He couldn’t have possibly said that. That’s way too smooth. There’s no way Jensen will respond…

“If you don’t mind your ears bleeding, sure.”

“If my ears bleed, you can call Old Paul.”

“Excellent idea.”

“Quit stalling.”

Grinning, Jensen acts extremely put out. With a groan and a grunt, he hauls out his guitar and starts tuning it. He mentions that it is rancher law to know how to play at least one soothing instrument. Singing is a bonus. The animals get to know their people better, start to trust and relax. His brother chose the harmonica, his sister chose the fiddle, and he opted for the guitar.

“Don’t expect much,” he warns. “This is cowpoke music, not the opera.”

Jared kicks Jensen’s boot.

The few beginning strums sound hesitant and carefully played. Jared sits back and makes himself comfortable. Jensen seems to notice. He strums a little louder, more confident. The chords seem simple, but the sound is anything but. Although the tempo feels relaxed, Jensen keeps it all moving.

After he clears his throat, Jensen starts to sing.

“Standing on the edge of time, wondering who we are supposed to be. Watching all the days go by, feeling like we’ve only just begun.” These words drift away, rich, low, and smoky. They flit past the fire and mingle with the indigo night. Jensen infuses the song with affection, even though the words continue bittersweet. “All the world around you turns inside of me. It’s ever changing. Here we go again, we’ll start another fire. Here we go again, only to return.”

There might be a harmonica here, or an accordion.

But to Jared, it’s perfect as-is.

“Shed a little light to find the truth. Dreams become the birth of life.” Jensen’s hands and the guitar meld together, lost in nostalgia. “All the stars above you are the clues I need. They’re ever-changing…”

This might not be so painful if it wasn’t so lovely.

Faith clings to to the last few strums.

Jared doesn’t wait for those final vibrations of sound to disappear. He leans over and catches Jensen’s mouth in a kiss.

Dreams become as real as the guitar between them--for ten whole seconds.

Because then, Jared pulls away, utterly mortified by what he’s done and everything he stands to lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gasp! he did what?! XD
> 
> also, song by Santa Cecilia. 
> 
> if you'd like to support me outside of AO3, visit my tumblr at compo67.tumblr.com. <3


	36. Chapter 36

Run.

And don’t stop.

Run and never look back. Forget everything. Face nothing. 

If he runs away, assumes a new identity, then he will never have to think about the moment he ruined everything ever again. Run into the void. Welcome darkness. Or better yet, let the darkness come to him. If only a hole would open up beneath him, swallow up his body, and spit him out into an alternative universe where he just kept his damn mouth to himself.

Why.

Why did he have to  _ kiss _ Jensen?

Why couldn’t he have started with some kind of small talk about feelings and emotions and the way his chest s queezes with every ridiculous joke made about Martha’s table manners or crooked smile or easy drawl? Why couldn’t he have settled for sitting together? Why couldn’t he have been happy with what they had? Why mess with the formula? 

Because now, his experiment has blown up in his face.

Jensen pulls away first.

And in the two seconds after he does, Jared’s heart snaps in half. 

Their eyes lock. 

Jared searches Jensen’s eyes for any sign of disgust, anger, or… 

Forget it. Just run. Jared feels his legs move, his body lift, and heart thunder. 

When Gramps met  Grams, he literally swept her off her feet. He left a profound impression on her and afterwards, they were rarely separated. They talked about each other in the same, steady affectionate tone, even if Gramps had the tendency to let Jared stay up late or Grams had the tendency to give him too many sweets. Love was there. And when Grams speaks about him, love is still there. 

Now, whenever Jensen talks about Jared, there’ll be nothing but awkwardness and obscurity.

He’ll tell people Jared was absurd and immature and over eager and inexperienced and hilariously, stupidly hopeful. 

And all Jared will have will be wisps of memories. Like the time Jensen gave him the bigger half of a biscuit. Or every shared laugh on the days spent digging post holes. Or the sound of Jensen frantically shouting his name. 

“Jared!” 

Nope. Not buying it. That’s got to be a hallucination. That’s got to be the creation of a sick, twisted, desperate teenage mind. 

“Hey, hey, hey, hey--” A firm hand grabs Jared by the arm. “Stop, just wait, just wait a minute! Jared!” 

“No!” Jared twists out of the hold and maintains at least three steps’ distance between them. “Forget it! Just forget that… that I… you don’t have to be nice about it!” 

In fact, it’d probably be better if Jensen wasn’t nice about it. Then Jared could hate him. Hold a grudge against him. Learn from this. Grow. Let go instead of pining, whining, and picking the wound open over and over again. 

“Listen,” Jensen says, his voice abrasive and barbed. “Would you  _ just listen _ ?” He storms around Jared so that they are once again face to face. In late night darkness and the chill of early morning, Jensen places his hands on Jared’s shoulders. He hesitates firing off his next words. 

“Anyone, including me…” Jensen’s chest rises and falls as he breathes hard and struggles to find the right words, the right order, and the right tone. “Maybe, especially me, would be god damn lucky to get a kiss from you.” 

Jared huffs and bristles under Jensen’s touch. “Don’t. Don’t even bother.”

“Just give me a chance!” Jensen snaps. His hands scrape at Jared. “You don’t… you can’t just go around planting one on people for the first time and then expect… Jared, it’s not that I don’t… it’s just… I appreciate… fuck. I’m not saying this right.” 

If only he’d never seen the campfire. 

If only Luke hadn’t brought him along to help.

If only so many things were different. 

“Deal with it your way,” Jared grumbles. “And I’ll deal with it my way. I’m going home.” 

“At one in the morning? Walking by yourself? Are you… Wait a second. Wait. Hey! Would you give me a chance, here?” 

“You pushed me away, what else is there?” 

“That’s freakin’ unfair! Of course I pushed you away, you just… without warning… it’s called reflexes! Fuck. You could have asked, you know.” 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry about all of it, okay? I should have. I didn’t. I shouldn’t have done it at all. I suck. The end.” 

“Hey!” The sound of Jensen’s footsteps comes to a quick halt. “You wanna be treated like an adult, Jared, you gotta learn how to apologize like an adult. Own up to it. Right here and now.”

No. Jared doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to face Jensen or have anything to do with how royally he just screwed up everything. Things were fine. Why couldn’t he have been content with fine? Why couldn’t he have handled things in such a way as to show Jensen how truly mature and capable he is? Instead of this bundle of wrecked emotions and hormones.

Jensen heaves a sigh. “Fine.”

Jared remembers walking these roads before Jensen moved here. 

“I apologize,” Jared says, the levity of his words marred by the anxiety in his chest. He turns and faces Jensen, the only light between them provided by the moon. “I’m sorry that I kissed you without warning and you had every right to react on instinct. But I need to go. I can’t talk to you right now, I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t keep apologizing.” Moving with purpose, Jensen closes the distance between them so that only a foot remains. “I mean, you don’t have to.”

“Okay.” 

“Please… let me drive you home. You shouldn’t be walking around this late in the dark.”

“I made it here fine.”

“I know, I know you did. But I’d like to drive you home.”

“It’s not far.”

“Alright,” Jensen concedes. He holds out his arms. “It’s your decision.”

Be brave. Act like an adult. Push away feelings. Stomp them down. Ignore them and keep doing the laundry. Keep burping the baby. Keep stirring dinner. Keep looking after the boys. Keep sleeping in tight quarters, sewing over the rips in his clothes, hunting through cabinets for whatever might be left to eat. Keep allowing this to be his life, whether he wants it or not.

Jared releases a question out into the night, before Jensen moves any further away from him. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

Three, four, five seconds pass by, which may as well be hours.

Jensen places his hands on Jared’s shoulders and gives a squeeze. He moves his right hand to frame Jared’s jaw, his thumb smooths over the edge.

“No,” Jensen answers, his voice quiet. His words sound as clear as the streets in town. “No, Jared, you can’t. I wanna say this has nothing to do with you or your age but it does. You’re my best friend’s kid. I’d only be taking advantage of you and him.”

“I’ll be eighteen in eight months,” Jared counters. “Or do you not… you don’t feel anything for me, do you?”

It’s not a question.

And still, Jared doesn’t pull away from Jensen’s touch. 

“I want you around.” Jensen’s hands begin their ascent. “I… I look for you in town, I wonder when the next time you’ll stop by, I find myself wondering if maybe I did something to make you upset and that’s why you haven’t swung by.” 

But.

“But. I can’t do this, Jared. Not like this.”

With adults, there is always, always a  _ but _ . 

Jared tears himself away from the last of Jensen’s touch the way he’s seen Aaron rip off bandaids. Quick. Merciless. 

The steel in his reply surprises him and its audience. 

“I’m not Luke’s kid. I’m no one’s  _ child _ .”

The surface of Mars welcomes him on his journey away from Jensen’s, away from town, away from Shady Pines, and away from his pantry room.

That’s all he wants--away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i finished reading a book tonight that had a very similar plot line to this fic. and now i'm like hmm. why do i do the things that i do. /sigh/


	37. Chapter 37

Gramps used to tell Jared stories of King Arthur’s knights. 

He liked to emphasize the knights and their adventures. To him, King Arthur just wasn’t the center of excitement. There was more to work with when it came to the knights. They left the ordinary world of the castle and the round table, and went to an extraordinary world of adventure. On their search for the Holy Grail, they faced perilous, exciting challenges. Every victory and setback prepared the heroes for greater tests to come.

Every trial pitted the knights against unpredictable foes. These were brave, clever, strong knights--but they were not above being stumped, distracted, or injured. One of the most interesting stories Gramps told involved the knights being thwarted by crossing a river. The river was too deep for horses and any other route would take them hundreds of miles off course.

Men, no matter how brave, can still be humbled by nature. 

Gramps would switch over to different legends, myths, or stories. Grams tried to forbid anything too frightening--like the cannibals in the Odyssey--but Gramps insisted. He said Jared needed to learn how to outwit and outrun antagonists. What better way to learn than from knights and heroes and those things in the dark that chased them? 

Even if it meant going up against the dreaded Baba Yaga herself. 

Or dragons. Minotaurs. Sirens. Wizards. Demons. Mermaids. Creatures of hell.

Heroes take enormous risks. 

Jared failed.

He should learn from this. He should sit down and really think about the journey behind and before him. Gramps told him that even the best heroes gambled and lost. Sometimes, they returned home with nothing to show. But they always managed to get back up and continue on.

These heroes were not teenagers running on a dusty, rural road at one in the morning. 

He doesn’t have newfound wisdom, knowledge, or the purpose of his quest. 

He ain’t got shit.

In fact, he has negative shit. He can’t call anything his own. It all belongs to his mother or Luke, Grams, or school. Nothing is  _ his _ and only  _ his _ . Either the adults around him give him things or he shares what he has with his siblings. 

Hope for anything more than his current situation seems like distant pinpricks of light hiding in a deep, dark forest. 

Nothing will change.

Nothing will happen.

Unless he makes it happen. 

Gramps never told a story about a boy on the planet Mars. Pebbles and gravel quake around Jared’s sneakers. He runs and breathes in the cold air of this alien terrain. Nothing looks familiar and instead of fear, excitement and curiosity fuel his every movement. 

Stories can be warnings. Don’t obey strangers. Never go beyond the safety of town. Listen to elders. But Gramps never told these stories with an intent to frighten Jared. 

Cowboys and ranchers have to tell something on long nights. These stories might as well be currency swapped and shared around a fire or under a tent. Gramps was never a wealthy man, so he gave Jared something he could have with him always. Memories. Imagination. Tales to tell others in his life for entertainment and camaraderie. 

The surface of Mars makes Jared light. His joints and muscles move in such a way never before experienced. Everything feels fluid. 

His sneakers leave behind faint impressions. Tears float away from his face and drift out towards the moon.

And the irrefutable sun stuns him.

Except, Jared isn’t on Mars. And the sun is really a pair of headlights on a red truck. 

Jensen steps out. His boots crunch on the gravel. 

“Get in the truck,” Jensen commands. He storms towards Jared and points to the truck. “What were you thinking, running off like that?! It is the middle of the god damn night, Jared. I get that you don’t want to be around me right now, but I’m not going to let you disappear.”

Jared crashes to Earth. 

His muscles tense and fists clench. He draws in a deep breath, prepared to snap back at Jensen for knocking him off course and causing his plumet back to native soil. Did Jensen think Jared needed some more rejection rubbed in his face? Why did he have to fall for this man? Anyone else could have been a perfectly viable option. Why did this have to happen in the first place? He was content with how things were. How things used to be. 

That’s what he told himself two weeks after Luke moved in with the boys.

He preferred things the way they used to be.

Back when his mother spent time with him. When she would stop at the store and pick up his favorite kind of pastry so they could have something sweet after dinner. When Gramps and Grams lived with them and Jared never came home to an empty home after school. 

In those years of his existence that now seem like the stuff of dreams. 

Jared stands up straight.

He holds within him a galaxy of hurt, disappointment, bitterness, and fear. 

He needs a safe place to land--to get care, comfort, and acknowledgement of his existence that extends beyond what he can do for others. 

And he isn’t going to get that here, in this town, in this place. 

Maybe one day, he can thank Jensen for the epiphany.

“No,” Jared answers, firm and resolute. He walks around Jensen and steps back into the night. Alone and unafraid. “No, thank you.”

Jared walks home. 

He ignores the headlights that follow him all the way to the front door. 

Back in his room, which happens to be the pantry, Jared allows his chest to expand. He takes one big gulp of air and lets it out into his pillow. 

For once, it feels real good to cry.


	38. Chapter 38

Jared isn’t stupid.

Despite what adults think. 

He leaves for school before anyone can speak to him. Once at school, he showers in the locker room. Finished and dressed for the day, he makes his way to the cafeteria, where he splurges and buys an actual hot meal for himself. Even if he hates oatmeal, the sausage biscuit oozes grease, and the orange juice might as well be colorful sugar water, he finishes all of it--even the nasty, stale bran muffin most people throw away.

Teachers seem shocked to see him so bright and alert in their classes. Classmates gossip until Jared glares over at them, his expression capable of murder. 

At lunchtime, instead of heading home to help with chores or Baby Rose, Jared goes to the cafeteria. The lunch ladies don’t quite know what to do with him or his money when he orders two trays worth of food and pays in cash. 

He’s not stupid.

After school, he avoids home by going to Mikey’s and formally asking his father for work. It doesn’t have to be much, Jared insists, and eventually starts his first task: cleaning out the walk-in cooler. Mikey lends Jared a sweater and apologizes for the state of the walk-in. Jared refuses to accept the apology; this is fine. 

Better than fine.

It keeps his mind and body occupied for three hours. With care, he cleans the walk-in from top to bottom, rotating tubs of ice cream and cartons of heavy cream. He moves everything from the left side over to the right in order to clean that side first. Puddles of ice cream frozen to the floor require Jared to get down on his hands and knees to scrub with hot water and soap. His hands turn red within seconds. 

Mikey’s father pays Jared and adds a little extra for his efforts making the walk-in spotless and organized. Jared thanks him and asks when he can expect more work. 

He does this for a full week. 

School. Odd jobs. School. Odd jobs. School. 

The hardware store. The general store. The library. The thrift shop. The hamburger stand. He takes out garbage, cleans storerooms, hauls bags, sorts clothes, and even flips burgers. Mikey shows him how to scoop ice cream and make sundaes. It no longer bothers Jared that he makes things for people his age to enjoy. The more business, the more tips, the more pay.

Nothing pays as well as digging post holes. And he misses the feel of soil underneath his boots and hands. 

Each day is a lesson in how nothing can replace that brief span of time.

It hurts like hell. 

For the sliver of time he goes home to sleep, the adults give up trying to talk to him. He makes it clear that he does not want to talk, he does not have to be asked to babysit, and he does not want to do anything but study and work. Luke must have convinced Jared’s mother to go with Jared’s demands. 

Did Jensen tell?

Is this pity? 

What does it matter? 

Jared stays away from Shady Pines. Grams will only try to change his mind. And she could--more easily than he wants to admit. All she would have to do is start telling him that story. The one about how Gramps literally swept her off her feet. How she walked right up to him, stuck out her hand and said, “Mister Padawhatever, I don’t know who you are, but Paul says you’re kin and his kin is mine. Welcome.” And wouldn’t he know it? A hog got loose from the pens and charged right at them. 

Gramps picked her up like he was holding some cotton candy.

Something bitter inside Jared tells him that Grams promised him he’d someday feel that same sense of whirlwind awe.

This time, it won't be good enough to change the subject. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we have about... five more chapters left here, plus an epilogue. brace yourselves for the descent. <3


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jensen's POV this chapter. :)

**Jensen** :

 

Kate does not invite Jensen inside her home. 

Jensen expected as much, especially as he arrived unannounced and out of the blue in the middle of the day. 

They’ve never been friends. In fact, they’ve never been anything that could ever be remotely regarded as acquaintances. They are two people who happen to know of the other’s existence in the world. Kate has different feelings about Jensen’s existence, and if he’s being honest, he holds those same feelings about hers. 

However, the reason for his visit isn’t about them.

He takes off his hat and holds onto it with both hands, by the rim, then prays that his voice doesn’t sound entirely pathetic. A little pathetic is fine. 

“Hi, Kate.” Good so far. “I just… is Jared home?” 

Mid-day seemed like the best time to swing by. Jared has, as long as Jensen has known him, always managed to avoid going home right after school. And the conversation Jensen has spent the past three weeks crafting is best done in daylight. 

Cold, hard hazel eyes scan Jensen before looking away. “He’s at school. You don’t need to talk to him anyway.”

While Jensen doubts Jared said anything about what happened between the two of them, there’s always the possibility he has. The less he says to Kate, the better. Like always. 

“Well, I just wanted to square away a few things,” Jensen insists. It’s a struggle to keep his voice from giving away too much. “I still owe him for the help with the fence.” 

“Give it to Luke.”

“He’s busy with some other jobs for the rest of the week.” That’s not a lie. But it is convenient that Luke left a note on Jensen’s door last week informing him of those other jobs. “And,” Jensen adds, “I wanted to make sure what I give him is fair.” 

Fuck. Too much.

Kate narrows her eyes and folds her arms in front of her. Her voice takes on a rough, sharp tone. “You took care of that already.”

Did he tell her? It sounded like they had once been close. But Jared also avoided telling Kate or Luke much of anything. Unless maybe this was the one time he decided to share. Jared was hurt and rejection can make people act differently. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Jensen clears his throat and puts his hat back on. He glances at Kate and nods. “Yeah, suppose I did. Well, thanks all the same.” 

“You don’t need to come back here,” she quips. “Your business with Luke can stay at your place.”

Temptation begs for Jensen to flat out ask Kate what the fuck crawled up her nose this morning. What’s her problem? What has been her problem for the past five years? If anyone should be upset and rude, it should be Jensen. Kate’s the one Luke left him for. If anyone should hold a grudge or be jealous of, it should be Jensen. 

No. Fuck. She can have her feelings.

Not everyone has to like him. And for whatever reason, she doesn’t like him. That’s her business.

“I won’t,” he assures her. “And it will.” 

So much for that.

 

Jensen drives.

At first, he was going to head into town. Then, he was going to make his way over to Shady Pines. But then he thought about working on the fence, so maybe he’d go home. 

Guilt knocks on his chest. 

Those are all places he shared with Jared. 

This is ridiculous. What exactly does he expect to say to Jared now that everything’s out in the open? Now that Jensen had his chance to react well and he failed in spectacular fashion. He can fool himself by insisting that Jared needs to hear everything right now so he doesn’t end up bitter. But really, Jensen knows he wants to talk to Jared in order to get things off of his own chest. It’s a selfish desire that leads to aimless, circuitous driving. 

He wants to tell Jared that there isn’t a way they can both get what they want. 

Jensen has spent the last three weeks desperately trying to figure out how they could both walk away winners. 

The magic solution to all of their problems has yet to appear. 

But if Jensen could just explain. 

His truck winds up at Shady Pines. He sits in it, anxiously tapping his hands on the steering wheel and chewing his bottom lip. This isn’t something he can call home about and hope for sage advice from his parents or sister. Neither can he confess to Luke that when Jared kissed him, what made him pull away wasn’t the shock of it, but because he liked it.

More than liked it.

How exactly does he phrase this to anyone? A teenager kissed him and he finds it great? Better than great--it was sweet and warm and calming. 

That’s the effect Jared has had on him. Calming. Reassuring. Soothing. 

Jensen bangs his head on the steering wheel.

What. The. Fuck. Is. Wrong. With. Him.

He buries his face in his hands and takes a deep, shaky breath. 

All kinds of people said he was crazy, ridiculous, or just plain stupid for buying the Miller ranch. Even Luke didn’t understand it. He tried to convince Jensen to place his money elsewhere, some other plot of land that would be a better investment without so much work. 

And yes, when he got here, it was dilapidated and depressing. 

It was worth it when he rolled in with Pop, who hasn’t been able to remember much in the past few years, but who instantly recognized the place. 

Charles Ackles bought the ranch almost sixty years ago, when he was young and full of dreams for the land. For fifteen years he ran a successful ranch and business. Town back then was booming. The roads were better and people were friendlier. Town was a place people actually wanted to move to and live in. 

Then, in year fifteen, his wife became ill. He spent their savings on medical treatments, ultimately having to place her in a facility for full-time, round the clock care. 

Miraculously, she held on for another five years. 

Pops exhausted every line of credit and source of income he had until that last year. He sold the ranch, and moved everyone to Dallas. He chose the best hospice facility money could buy. 

It was pure dumb luck that Jensen found a picture of Pop and Ma, newlyweds, standing happily outside the main house on the ranch. He asked his father about it and received such vague, short responses that he skipped anyone else in the family and went straight to Pop’s nursing home outside of Dallas. 

After a few minutes of staring at the picture, Pop told Jensen those were the happiest days of his life. He and his wife were young, full of life, and utterly in love. Working the land with her by his side was as close to heaven as he ever got. 

No one in town recognized Jensen’s last name--not even the elderly manager of the bank.

The Millers asked for such a small amount of money, Jensen had enough of his pay out leftover to comfortably set aside a sizeable budget for repairs. 

It was pure coincidence that Luke and his boys had moved twenty minutes away from the ranch.

Jensen steps out of his truck, closes the door, and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. If he could whip the ranch into shape within a reasonable amount of time, Pop would be able to see it again as he remembered. Having him live at Shady Pines nearby seemed like the best course of action and Jensen’s father didn’t put up any problems when Jensen announced his plan. 

The thought was to move on in, restore the place and his friendship with Luke. 

It wasn’t a desperate attempt at clinging to a relationship that hadn’t worked out. Jensen understood and accepted all of that. What he didn’t understand or accept was why they couldn’t still be friends. 

Luke seemed willing. 

Somehow, Jensen winds up in Mona’s living room with a cup of tea in his hands. 

He looks up from the tea to meet her eyes. “So I…” Jensen croaks, then clears his throat. “I can’t say I expected any of this to happen.”

They sit in silence for a few moments as Mona thinks over and sifts through all of the information Jensen blurted out. She was on her way to a bridge game. Jensen knows he apologized more than once for randomly showing up, but he still can’t remember how his feet carried him from his truck to her living room. 

Unable to sit in the silence, Jensen stands up and continues talking. His words rush out of his mouth. “Luke and I… we were together for a year. But you see. I’m ten years younger and even though that didn’t matter to me, it did to him.” 

Jensen had insisted to Luke that the age difference wasn’t a big deal. He said it until he was blue in the face.

“Neither of us were--or are--good with words,” Jensen continues, trying to slow his speech. “And looking back on it, it wasn’t just the age thing. We just weren’t right for each other. It’s… we were never on the same page for shi--stuff that mattered. So he broke it off.” 

More like Luke disappeared for three days and then told him he’d made a decision about them and their relationship.

“I think,” Jensen murmurs, “what’s funny--if you can call it that--is that in my panic, I told Jared the same lines Luke told me.”

Mona closes her eyes and takes a deep breath as if preparing herself to deal with all of Jensen’s insanity. Eyes open, she smooths out her yellow sundress and asks, “What exactly did you tell my grandson?” 

Jensen wishes he had said something eloquent and wise instead of what actually came out of his mouth. “He asked me if he could kiss me again and I said no.” He sits back down. “I told him he’s my best friend’s kid. I said what Luke said to me when I was the one getting rejected--I’d only be taking advantage of the situation.” 

Some adult Jensen turned out to be. 

“Then,” Jensen adds, his voice as shaky as a beginner on a unicycle, “then I told him that I look for him in town. I wonder when he’ll be around. It was true. I mean, it’s still true. He kissed me and I pushed him away because I liked it.” 

Maybe the eight year difference in their ages wouldn’t be so bad if Jared was twenty years old.

“I don’t see how we can both get what we want.”

“What do you want?” Mona stands up. “I think that’s a fair question, don’t you?” 

It is, but it’s also a difficult one. 

“I want…” Jensen chews on his lip again and clenches his fists, unsure of what to do with his hands. “I don’t want to hold Jared back. I want…” 

More. More kisses, more hugs, more time out on the ranch--just the two of them cracking jokes and singing off-key. He wants his bed to smell like Jared all the time, to run baths for him on the regular, and to walk into a room and hear Jared talking to Martha. 

To Jensen’s surprise, he’s said all of that out loud. 

Mona sighs and shakes her head. “Why didn’t you tell him how you actually felt?”

“Because it ain’t right. I mean, it isn’t right.”

“Don’t you think you should both determine what’s wrong or right?”

“No.” Jensen scrubs his face. “No, because I’m the adult in this situation.” 

Silence. 

Then, Mona nods. “You’re a good man, Jensen.” She looks over at a picture of herself, her late husband’s favorite. Jared referenced it in more than a few conversations. In that snapshot of youth, she’s on the beach, looking like a pin-up model on her leopard print towel. “I’m going to tell you that I… I wanted the two of you to work out. I think you both gave each other something to look forward to in this town. You two needed it.” 

She sits next to Jensen and pats his clasped hands. “I was seventeen when my husband took that picture.” She gives his hands a squeeze. “I’m trying to keep my distance from Jaybird, give him some room to figure out what comes next. I need to stay neutral and, like you said, be the adult in the situation.”

They sit on the couch for a minute or two, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Jared should be here with them. That thought, Jensen knows they have in common.

Mona turns to Jensen and gives him a small smile. “Write him a letter. Put it out there in writing. And when you’re both ready, I’ll be rooting for you.”

When he arrives at the ranch, he announces to Martha that he’s about to write possibly the most important letter in his life. Martha clucks and sits next to him at the kitchen table as he commits his thoughts and emotions to paper. 

Surprisingly, the words come easy. 


	40. Chapter 40

Time passes as quickly as the first trays of meatloaf clear from the cafeteria at Shady Pines. 

One week turns into two which turns into three. Jared prefers for the days to escape from him like sifting sand. The gravel on the ground looks more and more like the surface of Mars. He navigates the planet, aware of the weight and gravity of his situation, his choices, and his distinct yet fragile hopes. 

It doesn’t have to be now.

On his way from the hardware store to the ice cream parlor, Jared almost runs into Jensen. 

Almost.

His sneakers work on Mars. He dodges, pushes past, and walks away without once making direct eye contact. It’s possible Jensen tries to say something. Words might form. 

It doesn’t have to be now. Not right now. 

But it has to be soon.

Jared arrives on time for his shift. 


	41. Chapter 41

Nightmares start.

In the past, they would be excruciatingly detailed. 

Like that one where his mother held him as a toddler and carried him from the kitchen to the front porch. She set him down and chased after a man quickly walking away from them and the house. That nightmare always started and ended the same. His father would never turn back no matter how much his mother begged and pleaded. He was the same immoveable, unfeeling wall of muscle and bone. 

Now, the nightmare changes. 

Jared wakes up from it every night, his mouth open and lungs filled with air, his entire body ready to scream. 

“Just because it didn’t work out between you and me, you think I’m lonely? I’m not. I’m just alone. And there’s a big difference. You know I need my space.”

It gets to the point where Jared almost believes he is the owner and originator of those words.

His father left in the middle of the day, when it was the most painful and memorable. 

Jared vows to leave before dawn. 


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second to last chapter, y'all!

The last few things Jared needs from town are food supplies. 

He had to wait until the day before to buy them so they wouldn’t spoil or be discovered by anyone and eaten. With a strict budget, he roams the aisles of the general store and combs through the discount cart. 

Luckily, his mother taught him how to make cheap, filling meals. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches qualify as a meal. He picks out three cans of baked beans, two cans of peaches, one loaf of bread, one jar of peanut butter, the smallest jar of strawberry jam, and four apples. Jared asks Mr. Knuth to total everything out, and finds out he still has an entire dollar left to spend. He rummages through the discount cart and pulls out a box of granola bars, two small bags of chips, and another apple. 

It all needs to fit in Jared’s backpack. He leaves the store and stops by the ice cream parlor. If he’s seen with two bags from Knuth’s, everyone at his house will question what’s inside and demand their share. 

After squirreling away the bags, Jared makes his way over to the laundry tree using an old, squeaky bicycle Mikey lent him last week. It’s made getting to and from places in town a lot easier; it also gives him a taste for transportation independent of his sneakers. 

Earlier this morning, he hung up some jeans and shirts to dry after washing them at school. It did not surprise Jared at all today that his mood at school improved when he realized that starting tomorrow, he’d never have to go back there. No more classmates. No more teachers ignoring him--or worse--or constantly asking him to pull his life together as if he had any say in the matter. No more cruddy alphas his age acting like buffoons just to get glances from the omegas. No more sitting in an uncomfortable desk, staring out the window and daydreaming of a different life. 

Jared climbs the tree and decides to linger. 

It’s early still and he’d rather wait for everyone at his house to go to sleep before he slips back in. He chooses one of the sturdier branches up top and lies back, arms behind his head and legs stretched out before him. 

A cool breeze drifts past and a sense of calm settles into his chest. 

Nothing lasts forever.

He hears the sound of a truck approaching and peers down to investigate. At first he thinks it might be Luke, but Luke should be two towns over on a job. Could it be…

No. 

It’s just Rodney, driving the Shady Pines truck like an idiot. He almost drives past the line of trees until he spots Jared’s bicycle. Dammit. Of all things to catch his attention. 

Rodney hefts himself out of the truck and lumbers over to inspect the bicycle. Jared can already smell his cologne, which he has still not learned how to spritz instead of taking a god damn bath. What’s it to him that there’s a bicycle leaning against a random tree? Has he made himself the bicycle police? Well, as long as he doesn’t think to look up. 

But it’s Jared’s luck that Rodney actually, for once in his life, thinks and follows this thought to a logical conclusion. This new and exciting function of his brain causes him to look up and holler, “Get on down from there!” 

Beautiful. Just beautiful. 

“I’m resting,” Jared calls out. “Go away.”

Insulted, Rodney puts a hand on the tree, as if to shake Jared from it like a banana. “You either get on down on your own or I’ll call your parents!” 

“No,” Jared gasps to himself and rolls his eyes. “Anything but that.” 

“Fine,” Rodney huffs. “I’ll just haul your bike away.”

“God dammit.” Jared takes his time climbing down. No sense in breaking his arm just for the likes of Rodney and his vague threats. “I’ve gotten on down. What do you want? Don’t you have a desk to sit at?” 

Rodney’s face twists into an expression of disgust and anger. “I heard you’ve been sniffing around at some alpha’s house for hours on end.” 

Jared yanks his bicycle out of Rodney’s hands. “What’s it to you? I was working, which is more than you can say. Why are you here? Are you bored?” Jared decides to fuck sensibility and keep talking. “Did the junior jumble in today’s paper trip you up so now you gotta pick on high schoolers? Or did you finally realize that stench hovering around you was actually you?” 

The scuffle and struggle start in a series of grabs, shoves, and shakes. Jared never expected Rodney to put his hands on him. His age and the presence of residents and staff at Shady Pines have protected him. No one’s out here on the edge of town. 

Though Jared does see a cherry red truck drive up.

“Let go!” Jared digs his nails into Rodney’s forearms. “Get off of me!” 

Words spew out of Rodney’s lips and he manages to snake a hand down to Jared’s ass. He gives one great big squeeze and tries to shove his mouth onto Jared’s. 

Jared headbutts Rodney.

And stomps on Rodney’s foot. 

Then lands a solid kick to Rodney’s stomach, followed up with spitting in his face. 

Coughing and sputtering, raging and trying to blindly grab at Jared, Rodney lurches forward. Jared manages to shove him backwards, so that his back lands on the barrel of Jensen’s shotgun.

“Get in your clown car,” Jensen shouts, his voice piercing, “and leave. Now!” 

Rodney refuses, accuses Jensen of bluffing, and almost shits himself when Jensen fires a warning shot into one of the trees ten feet away. 

Jensen follows Rodney to the Shady Pines truck, holds him at gunpoint the entire time, and makes sure Rodney buckles up. He mutters a series of sentences and threats, gun pointed at Rodney’s neck. Jared can’t quite hear what Jensen says, but Rodney pulls the truck away from the tree at the grand speed of five miles per hour. Jensen walks with the truck until it points back onto the main road into town--at a distance where if Rodney tried to pull anything, Jared would have enough time to react. 

Ten seconds after Rodney drives off, Jensen fires another warning shot, hitting the truck bed. 

He walks back over to Jared, still underneath the shade of his favorite tree.

Despite the excitement of the past few minutes, silence overcomes them both. 

Just as Jensen opens his mouth to speak, a pair of jeans falls from above and lands on the ground two feet away. Luckily, Jensen doesn’t shoot said pair of jeans, though he does give Jared a look and peers up at Jared’s makeshift dryer. 

“That’s… efficient,” Jensen comments. He clears his throat. “I’m uh… gonna put this back in my truck. One second.”

“I didn’t know you had a shotgun. Or kept it in your truck.” Jared inwardly curses at himself for speaking. No, no, no. Now he’s lost his edge, his upper hand. 

After he places the shotgun under the driver’s seat, he shoves his hands into his pockets and walks back over to Jared. He shrugs and looks back up at the laundry drying on branches. “I don’t ever use it. But when you’re the only one looking after a ranch, it’s a necessity. When you started swinging by more often, I figured it was better if I stashed it in the truck.”

“You thought I’d use it or something?”

“No,” Jensen quickly replies. “No, I… I didn’t want you thinking I was a hick or something. Or… I didn’t want you to be afraid of me.” 

Luke keeps a shotgun under the floorboards by the front door. He doesn’t know Jared knows. It used to be where Jared hid all of his most prized possessions, until Luke and the boys moved in and he thought it best to find a hiding place within sight and sound of the pantry. 

That’s neither here nor there.

Jared doesn’t know what to say in response. 

“That’s a lot of laundry.” 

“I guess,” Jared murmurs. He picks up the jeans that had fallen, folds and stuffs them into the extra backpack he borrowed from Andrew. 

“You want help getting the rest down?”

“No. I got it.”

“Looks like my entire wardrobe,” Jensen comments. “Enough clothes for a couple of weeks.”

Jensen knows.

His eyes try to add to his observation, but Jared doesn’t try to decode the message. 

“What do you want?” Jared asks, leaning against the tree. “You did alright helping me out with that sack of shit, but he’s gone now and there’s nothing else to talk about. My laundry included.”

“You were doing fine handling him on your own.” Jensen takes off his cowboy hat and holds it against his chest. “I figured a little reinforcement wouldn’t hurt.”

How is it possible that Jared should feel such a strong attraction to the man who rejected his feelings? How can he still admire the profile of Jensen’s face, the freckles on the bridge of his nose, and the shape of his lips? How can that pathetic sliver of his mind think back on how soft that brief kiss had been. How can his heart and the muck of emotions built up inside of him betray him like this. 

It hurts and heals to look at Jensen.

It would be impossible to forget him.

“Jared…” Jensen takes a deep breath. “I apologize for not handling things better. I’m sorry.” He fusses with his hat, fingers tapping the rim. “That’s… all I can say out loud about that.” 

All Jared wants to do is forget him. 

And this town.

Jensen takes a folded envelope from out of his back pocket. He smooths it out and offers it to Jared, telegraphing his every move. 

“The rest that I need to tell you, I had to… I wrote it down. I hope you’ll read it. And maybe even write back. When you’re ready, of course.”

There’s still a whole lot to do before tomorrow, but Jared needs to wait until the sun sets to go back and finish things at the house. He can only take two bags--clothes and supplies. Everything else has to stay behind. 

Jared takes the envelope. 

He can fit it in his backpack. And read it when he’s ready. 

“Bye, Jensen,” Jared says, turning towards the tree and grabbing hold of a branch to climb back up. He looks over his shoulder. “Thanks.”

When he’s already halfway up, he hears Jensen reply. 

“Bye, Jaybird. Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ending a fic is always super difficult for me to do. there's always more story to tell. but i hope i did this fic justice. we have one more chapter and an epilogue. <3
> 
> if you'd like to support me outside of AO3, be sure to check my tumblr: compo67.tumblr.com. drop me an ask, or you know, comments are love!


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *last chapter* epilogue to follow

Jared leaves at dawn, as everyone sleeps and no one can remember the sound of his final footsteps throughout the house. 

Heroes take risks. Just because he failed at one, doesn’t necessarily mean he’ll fail at another. 

Gramps talked about going out into the world and looking at the stars from a different perspective. 

One backpack holds all the clothes he could fit and the other contains food and a paper bag filled with crumpled dollar bills and heavy change. 

Jared keeps his bus ticket and wallet in his pockets. 

And Jensen’s letter in his back pocket.

He opens the front door and sits on the porch for a few minutes. There were weekends when his mother used to make pancakes and they’d all curl up near the radio for the latest drama program. He remembers Gramps fixing leaks in the ceiling whenever it rained and Grams setting down pots and pans to catch the water. Wisps of tea time, camping, and playing hide and go seek through the house swirl around Jared. 

The front door opens. 

Luke stands there, dressed for work. 

“Good timing,” Jared murmurs and stands up. “Heading out?”

After a long moment of silence, Luke nods and says, “Yeah. Heading out. Are you?”

“Hope it’s a good job.”

“First of three today.” Luke sets down his lunch pail and takes off his workman’s gloves, but holds them, unsure of what to do with his hands. He stands next to Jared, but with enough distance not to crowd him. “Jensen told me some of what happened.”

No surprise there. Jared nods and shrugs. “I bet you think I’m being overdramatic.”

Luke looks at Jared. “No,” he says, conviction apparent in his voice. “I don’t think that.”

“You gonna try and stop me, then?”

“I want to.” Luke sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “But I… I also want more for you. This isn’t a bad place to call home.” His voice doesn’t waver, but his hands continue to wring. “But you can only go so far in a place like this. I’m not telling you what to do.” He takes a shaky breath. “But I’m respecting it best I can.” 

Jared can only nod in return. 

“I’ll take care of that security guard,” Luke adds. “Jensen’s not the only one who can fire a shotgun.”

“I know.”

“You do?” 

“Yeah. Under the floorboards to the right.”

Luke gives a small smile. “No one gets anything past you, huh?”

Jared returns the smile. “Not a thing.”

This is the most quiet and peaceful their house has been in a long, long time. With any hope, it’ll stay that way for a couple hours more before everyone else has to go to work or school. Jared wonders where he’ll be when his mother finds the letter he wrote and left for her on the kitchen table. Maybe Andrew will find his letter at the same time, and then most of the family will know what happened. 

The work gloves in Luke’s hands get another good wring. Luke cautiously steps forward and looks out at the dusty, gravel driveway and the lawn that could have used watering about five years ago. 

“You need a ride?” 

“I’m good. Mine’s on its way. But thanks.”

“Say goodbye to your grandmother.” It’s an order without sounding like one. 

“She’s my last stop.”

“Good.”

“Andrew’s got details. If you want them.”

“I do,” Luke whispers. “Of course I do.”

Luke turns away for a second. Then he rushes Jared into a tight, sweeping hug. It almost knocks Jared off his feet. He stands in awe of how someone could hold onto him so securely while also letting him go.

Jared returns the embrace. 

Mikey pulls up in the beat up old truck that will take them to the bus station two towns over. Putting the truck in park seems precarious enough. It’ll have to do. This is a one-way trip.

“Come back when you’re ready,” Luke says, patting Jared’s back. Then he insists on handing Jared cash from his wallet and a watch from his pocket. “It was my father’s. Just be sure to wind it.” 

Jared refuses to take these things and Luke refuses to be refused. 

Then, Jared turns towards the driveway. He pauses, one sneaker already on the edge of the porch. 

Faster than a post hole digger, he turns back around and hugs Luke one more time. Then he leaves, but not before saying thank you one more time. 

Heroes take risks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hate endings. i was so completely torn about how to end this fic, more so than other fics. it's a j2 fic, but how could i not end it with j2 actually being together? but how could i end it with them being together, that didn't quite fit either. 
> 
> i saw this as the best ending for both of them. i suppose real endings are like that--you don't always get what you want. but you get what you need. something like that.
> 
> thanks for being here, y'all. <3


	44. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CN: death of a minor character

**Epilogue**

Today is Wednesday--bridge day and meatloaf night.

At three thirty, Jared arrives at Shady Pines. 

He runs into his favorite security guard, Lydia, and signs in at the visitor’s desk. He walks past the brand new fire extinguishers in the lobby. There don’t seem to be any chickens on the front lawn or electric scooters going haywire. Sandwiches do not occupy Jared’s back pockets.

He promised to follow the rules.

Maybe they aren’t so much rules as they are customs. 

It’s proper to wear black at a funeral.

Four o’clock is what the announcement said. He made sure to starch and iron his suit ahead of time. Of all things to be late to, this should not be one of them.

The last time he saw Grams was just a few weeks ago. She convinced Paul, one of the few residents with a valid license, to drive her and some of the usual troublemakers to Dallas. Once the group separated, she met Jared at Perla’s Diner for lunch. It was the third anniversary of his departure and she looked so good, so healthy, so purely happy to see him.

“Well, god damn, Jaybird, don’t stare. Give me a kiss.” 

Grams still looks good. Healthy. Purely happy to see him.

He kisses her on the cheek and allows her to fix his hair. 

“We’re gonna be late,” he murmurs, but does nothing to stop her. “We’re supposed to be there by four.”

“Take it from someone who has been to a shit ton of funerals,” she quips. “There’s no such thing as a funeral that starts on time. Getting there early is bad luck, you know.” 

“Says who?”

“Says Virginia, that’s who.”

“Y’all ain’t fighting again, are you?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions, Jaybird.”

Jared checks his watch. “We’re leaving now, even if I have to haul you over my shoulder.”

Grumbling, Grams darts back into her apartment and collects her purse, double checks that the stove is off, and spends a minute debating on which hat to wear. Jared suggests the more subdued one, then leads her outside to the parking lot. 

Very little about Shady Pines has changed in these past three years. After a series of complaints and lawsuits, management got off their asses and renovated a few rooms and the cafeteria. Of course, they didn’t do anything about the design, decor, or grounds, so it looks as depressing as ever. Even the parking lot still has the same pot holes and cracks--except maybe bigger in size--that Jared noticed the last time he was here a year and a half ago. 

He sent cards to Grams and a few other residents every time he heard someone in their circle had passed away. 

However, this is the first time he’s come back to attend a funeral. 

At the sight of Jared’s black truck, Grams whistles. “Who is this beauty?” 

“You like it?” Jared smiles and opens the passenger side door for her, then helps her up. “I just finished paying it off last week.”

She smooths out her dress and waits for him to slide in beside her. “Of course I like it, honey. You deserve nice things. And this truck is one of the nicest things I’ve ever seen. It didn’t set you back too much, did it?”

“Not as much as this suit did.”

“Hush. You needed a new one.”

Jared laughs.“I guess there’s just no arguing with you, Grams.”

“Hell no there isn’t. Even cowboys need suits. Did you bring Mikey with you?” 

Jared drives down roads that have seen some improvement within the last year--lawsuits not required. Not that his truck couldn’t take the old ones. The lack of potholes makes for a smoother ride. 

“Nah. He’s fixing to have that baby any day now. Shocker that he didn’t want to spend five hours on the road with me in the middle of June.”

Grams laughs and pats Jared’s knee. “That was for the best. Trust me. How’s that gal of his?”

“She’s good. They wanna get married after the baby’s born. Maybe an August wedding.”

“Sounds dreamy.”

“Sure,” Jared says, turning down a smaller road. “If you’re into that sort of thing.”

_ Don’t laugh when you read this. Okay, I know you will, but don’t.  _ That was from the first letter Jensen wrote. The one he handed Jared underneath the laundry tree. Jared still has it. And he still laughs every time he rereads it.  _ I’m a god damn romantic. Long walks on the beach kind of shit. I want a solid house. Nice big lawn. A white fence. Don’t laugh--I’m gonna make it happen. _

Carefully, he follows a few signs on the property and eventually parks outside the main house.

The door is no longer pink. And Jared spots the beginning of a white fence.

Jared takes in a deep breath. 

He straightens his tie, unsure of what to do with his hands. It feels like he’s about to stumble through a briar patch and into a pit of quicksand. Exchanging letters over time is one thing; seeing each other in person is an entirely different beast. Jared knows this already. He stopped by his mother’s early this morning, when he first got into town, and no amount of letters could prepare him for his mother’s icy welcome. 

“You’ll be just fine,” Grams says. She places a hand over his and gives a quick squeeze. 

“I hope so,” Jared says, taking another deep breath. How did his hands get so sweaty? “I’m not having the best luck so far.” 

Grams fixes her makeup. Her hands, though a bit more wrinkled than they were three years ago. She’s been told to use a cane or a walker on longer walks, but she always manages to forget either of them. Jared helps her out of the truck and makes sure she has a solid grip on his arm as they walk around to the backyard. He thinks of the note he received with his invitation to the funeral, which was sent express last week. 

_ When you get into town, don’t stay at a hotel. The Marlow place has got a problem with roaches. And don’t you go booking a room at the boarding house. Mrs. Beauregard will tell you she doesn’t have a problem with stink bugs, but she does. Martha ate one the other day and her breath stank something fierce. Why am I going on about chicken shit?  _

In the beginning, Jared and Mikey bounced around from boarding houses to motels to apartments they could rent by the week. Jared didn’t respond to Jensen’s original letter for about three months--that’s how long it took him and Mikey to plop their stuff somewhere stable enough to have a mailbox. 

It took Jared a week just to muster up enough the nerve to write back. 

His pride was still hurt and he was in the process of licking his wounds by working double shifts and overnights. Anything to make enough money for rent so he’d pull his weight. Anything to prevent him and Mikey from going broke and going back home. At first, all they had in the studio apartment were a couple of crates, a mattress, and a few precious belongings. 

So what if Jared had to work three jobs. An entire year passed and he managed to somehow survive working at various ranches, stables, and fast food restaurants. He got a job waiting tables at a fancy steakhouse in Dallas, which allowed him to drop one of the stable jobs. When he broke his arm on a ranch, the ranch owners continued to pay him some wages, just so he wouldn’t injure himself further trying to pay rent. The waiters at his restaurant pooled a week’s worth of tips together for him when he came down with a fucking awful case of the flu. Mikey nursed him through whatever mess he found himself in, and for a while, things were good.

They just weren’t great.

Jared tried to ignore the first two letters and a postcard that arrived at their studio apartment some months after they’d moved in. He stuffed them into a box and convinced himself he was too busy. He dated some alphas, but every time he closed his eyes, his thoughts would drift no matter how he tried to keep them tethered.

No one swept him off his feet. 

_ Don’t stay anywhere in town. Stay with me.  _

Lines and lines and lines of chicken scratch on plain paper, postcards picked up from the General Store, and fancier paper when it could be found stretched all the way to wherever Jared moved. The studio apartment. The one bedroom basement space. The post office box those couple of weeks Jared and Mikey slept in a truck because they both wanted a chance to save up instead of spending all their money on rent. The two bedroom place they got cheap from Mikey’s girlfriend’s aunt, which came with cockroaches, but also included utilities, so who cared as long as no one left food out. The miniscule cottage behind the house of an old friend of Grams’ rents him, with its ceilings so low, Jared has to hunch over and mind the door frames. 

But it’s his place and his place only. It has been for some time. 

A few letters came to Jared with peck marks, coffee stains, the faint smell of meatloaf, or a combination of all three. The letters he sent back were typically creased, wrinkled, slightly illegible, or a combination of all three. 

Green, robust grass provides a soft carpet to walk on. 

This doesn’t feel like Mars at all.

Jared only visited Grams at Shady Pines a few times over the years. He didn’t visit anywhere or anyone else until today.

_ I think the world of you. It’s only right that I give you the world. Take and see as much of it as you need. When you’re ready, write me. I’ll be here.  _

That was the original letter with the original promise written by the man only a few feet away.

Jensen looks over. 

Jared offers a respectful nod. 

Everyone in attendance chose to wear black, except for Jensen. He’s dressed in jeans, boots, a red plaid shirt, and a denim jacket with a rose in the front breast pocket; plus a weathered cowboy hat. Martha runs from out of nowhere, a black ribbon tied onto her, and immediate starts pecking at Jared’s polished shoes. Grams tries not to laugh too loud and scoops Martha up, then excuses herself for a moment while she teaches Martha a lesson in manners.

“I’m not stealing your truck,” Jared says, holding up his own keys. “Got my own truck now.”

Jensen laughs and tears well up in his eyes. He roughly wipes at his eyes with his sleeve and sniffs. After he clears his throat, he takes a step towards Jared. 

“Thank you,” Jensen murmurs, his voice shaky. “Thank you so much for coming today.”

“Of course. Thank you for inviting me.”

“Well…” Jensen trails off. His eyes are red. 

People who look like Jensen stand near the elegant coffin and vast arrangements of flowers and cowboy hats. Jensen’s sister fusses with a picture set on an easel--a black and white picture of Charles in his twenties. Jensen looks just like him, cowboy hat and all. 

This is the second funeral Jared has ever attended. 

_ Pops died a few days ago. I’m sending this express in case you’d like to attend services. Your grandmother has been… well, how can I ever thank her. Luke’s also been around, sitting up with me when I can’t sleep and helping with phone calls. Pops knew a lot of folks. I’ve never planned a funeral before and I can’t believe I’m planning his.  _

Some of the ladies from Shady Pines hand out paper cups of coffee. There look to be about one hundred white fold out chairs neatly arranged for the service; there seem to be about that many people in attendance. From his mother this morning, Jared knows that Luke and the boys will be here soon. From letters back and forth to Luke and Andrew, Jared knows Andrew will bring his partner George and Baby Rose is no longer a baby, but very much Princess Rose.

Luke got steady work through the town helping pave roads, plus Shady Pines hired him to do a fair amount of renovations, and now he’s taken over for Mr. Knuth at the General Store. Jared used to send Luke money. In the past few months, Luke has sent it back with some more tucked inside. 

Jared wishes Luke had been at Gramps’ funeral. He feels a sense of calm knowing Luke will arrive soon with hugs and all the right things to say.

_ I’m a mess. I’m trying not to be. None of us live forever, so you’d think this would be easier. I got the ranch going. It’s in the black. I can hire another hand, repair some things around the house and in the barn, maybe get another horse. But what does that matter now? He ain’t here to see it. And when he was, I couldn’t take him out of his room in hospice. Everyone’s been telling me it’s good he went peacefully. He didn’t. Not for the past six months.  _

_ Sorry. I meant to keep this short. It’d mean a lot to me if you swing by. If you can. I know it’s a busy time of year.  _

_ By the way. Your grandmother told me that when you visited her, you also visited Pops. _

_ Thank you.  _

“You look good.” Jensen fidgets and stuffs his hands inside his jacket. “Really good.”

Jared thinks about Gramps’ funeral. He remembers one thing that Grams did for him then, even though she was heartbroken and crying. 

He closes the distance between himself and Jensen--pulling them into an embrace. 

Lines and lines and lines of words tie them together. 

There are two trunks full of clothes and other worldly possessions in the bed of Jared’s truck. He moved out of the cottage yesterday. Maybe this isn’t what Jensen meant when he wrote for Jared to stay with him.

But judging by how tight Jensen returns the hug and starts crying into Jared’s shoulder, even if it wasn’t what he meant, it can be what happens now.

He does what Grams did.

And holds Jensen close as long as he needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's a wrap on this one, y'all. <3
> 
> this fic went so many places i had no idea it'd go. even though this isn't the original ending i had in mind, i'm actually really happy with it. i think everyone got what they needed when they needed it.
> 
> to the original reader who I owed this fic to many years ago, thank you. and to my betas, thank you for the hours of edits and brainstorming sessions and plain old kicks in the ass to write. and to you, who has read through, thank you, i'm glad you're here. :) 
> 
> as ever, if you'd like to support me outside of AO3, check out my tumblr: compo67.tumblr.com.

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this story was posted elsewhere, and y'all can read about how to have earlier updates on my tumblr. :) 
> 
> i'm so proud of this fic. thank you to my betas G, J, T, and D. <3
> 
> this fic is finished, but i'll be posting it in pieces to spread it out. comments are love!


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